


Mixed Media

by LinksLipsSinkShips, TheMouthKing



Category: Rhett & Link
Genre: Eventual Smut, Explicit for the description of nudity and thoughts of more, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Make Outs, Modern AU, Nude Modeling, Oral Sex, Sarcasm, Semi Public, Slow Burn, Snark, art school au, college rhink, descriptions of bodies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-17
Updated: 2017-09-11
Packaged: 2018-12-03 05:03:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 29,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11525115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LinksLipsSinkShips/pseuds/LinksLipsSinkShips, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMouthKing/pseuds/TheMouthKing
Summary: After coffee, the boys take a detour on the way home. The next day, Rhett's everywhere Link doesn't want him to be.





	1. The Mixed and the Media

God, he hated him. Seriously, that smug little face with those hipster glasses and that smart-ass little grin. Rhett felt ridiculously unlucky to have ended up with Link Neal in every single one of his core classes.  _This semester could not get any worse._

Rhett raised his hand to answer a question the professor had asked, and Link rolled his eyes. Damn, could that guy be any more of a know-it-all? It got so annoying, seeing him raise his hand to answer every. single. question. she asked. He sighed heavily as the professor agreed that Rhett was correct.  _Whatever, dude._

Link started packing his books into his bag, ready to head to the coffee shop. He needed a hit of caffeine, big time. Class would be over in minutes, and then he was free, free to get coffee and return to the studio space to put some paint on a canvas, the image already forming in his mind. This is why he came to art school, to create, not to sit in some classroom with some jerk who thought he knew everything there was to know about art history and theory and technique in all but one of his classes.

Rhett fidgeted with the keys on his laptop, anxious for class to dismiss so he could take a nap. That's all he wanted right now, to close his eyes and be dead to the world for an hour. Last night, he was out partying with friends and his body was definitely protesting that decision today.

"As artists, we need to learn to collaborate with others in the community, even if we don't share the same style or aesthetic, or the same ideas about art." Class should be over, but the professor was still talking, droning on about collaborative work. "Before you leave, you need to draw out the name of who you'll be working with on the sculpture project. This counts for 40% of your final, so... make it count." She shook a basket and little slips of paper bounced around. She instructed each person to come up, grab a piece of paper, and reveal the person they'd be working with.

"Mr. McLaughlin, you have first pick."  _Oh thank goodness_ , the odds were in his favor... first pick meant that all of the names were in play. Hopefully he'd get paired up with that adorable brunette who always sat in the front row. She seemed talented, but more importantly, she was hot and being her partner meant getting to spend a lot of time with her creating... art.  _Heh._ Rhett reached in, pulling a slip of paper.

He stared at it with a puzzled expression. "I got my own name. This mean I can just go solo?"

"No, it means we discard it and you draw another. If anyone gets their own name, or the name of someone who already has a partner, we'll discard it. We'll do this until everyone is paired up." She plucked the strip of paper from his hand that had his own name written on it neatly. He buried his hand into the basket and pulled a slip of paper out. As he unfolded it carefully, he scanned the room until his eyes met with a set of bold blue eyes.

"No."

"Mr. McLaughlin, art isn't about who you want to collaborate with, it's about who can challenge you and shape you as an artist. Mr. Neal, you'll be working with Mr. McLaughlin."

Link glared at Rhett, then picked up his bag and stormed out of the room without a word.

 _Seriously? Freakin' seriously?_ 50 people in the class and he got stuck with the know-it-all? Really? Sculpture was arguably his least favorite medium, too, and now he had to make one with the tall snob he couldn't stand. Great. He stood in the hallway, his hands on his knees, vision going red.

"We're not going to be able to make much of a sculpture if you're running off, you know." Link hadn't noticed Rhett approach, but now Rhett was lounging against the wall, a smirk on his lips like this was the funniest thing in the world. Link knew Rhett didn't want to work with him anymore than he wanted to work with Rhett, so the snarky little grin must just be another way to piss Link off.

"Fine. I'm going to coffee. You can join me to discuss the project, or not. I really don't care." Link walked away without even looking to see if Rhett was following.

* * *

Rhett followed, of course, his desire for a decent grade outweighing his need for a nap. He knew if his grades dipped, his parents would stop sending cash and make him get a job, and that was cash he desperately needed in order to throw the best parties. He had a reputation to uphold. His parents hadn't been keen on the idea of him going to art school as it was, but neither of them could deny his natural talent, so they'd promised to support it as long as he promised to keep his grades up.

Generally, it came easy to him and he didn't worry. Now a good chunk of his final was riding on Link Neal's ability to actually sculpt, and he wasn't counting on that.

After both ordered their coffees and swiped their meal plan cards, they picked a table in a corner.

"What are we thinking on this one?"

"Let's just throw a really good pot man. She didn't say we couldn't use a wheel, and that'll be the most straightforward way to get it right."

Rhett didn't trust Link's ability to actually sculpt something free-form, but if it had been his choice out of any medium, he would have done some sort of carved wooden sculpture. As it stood, Link seemed to be more of a painter, or he assumed as much from the acrylic flecks that lined his cuticles and settled into the lines of his hands. Something on the wheel would be easiest, and he could make it look good, he was sure. Maybe he'd let Link take over on the glaze, since it wasn't too much of a stretch from painting.

"I've never... I mean... yeah, sure, that's probably going to work. Whatever."

They made plans to meet in the pottery studio later that night, after their afternoon classes. Rhett contemplated making room in the schedule for a drink or two... how else was he going to put up with Link's grating Southern twang if he wasn’t a little buzzed? But the project was too important, counted for too much, so he figured he’d just try to make it through without.

* * *

Rhett and Link each sat in front of their respective pottery wheels. They figured the best way to do this was to each throw a pot, then pick whichever turned out best. However, as each worked on their own, glances at how well, or how poorly, the other might be doing caused each of them to destroy theirs more than once.

"DAMMIT!" Rhett groaned as a stolen glance at Link's pot, or rather, at Link himself, and how he was so focused on his work, his body arched over the wheel, led to him ruining something that was actually turning out really well. The clay folded over on itself, and he was frustrated. An hour in, and they were having no luck. He started over.

"FUCK!" Link yelled 10 minutes later as his also crumpled. It was his fault for being distracted by the height and sheer perfection of the vase that Rhett was bringing to life so very carefully on the wheel, but equally Rhett's fault for the ridiculous way his tongue poked out of the corner of his mouth as he focused the vase he was making.

Link wet his hands again, starting over, as he felt Rhett's tall body hovering over his own. Rhett snorted, an incredulous laugh escaping his lips. "You think that's how you throw a pot? Really?"

"Yeah, like you're doing so much better over there, jerk." Link glared up at him over the frames of his glasses, fuming.

"Come on, you're such an amateur, Neal. Why don't you go back to your little canvases? You're clearly out of place in here."

"Fuck you, Rhett." Link was exhausted, body tired from trying hard to get the piece just right, only to fail again and again.

"You're still doing it wrong. Here, let me show you." Rhett's tone was harsh, angry. He grabbed Link's hand, gripping it too hard, pressing it into the clay. He used his other hand to pull the stool back, out from under Link, so he could balance behind him on the seat. "See, it's not that fucking hard," he growled into Link's ear, and Link felt his entire face turn red. He hated Rhett so much right now.

"I think I've got it, thanks." Link snapped at Rhett, trying to tug his arm away from Rhett's grasp, but it landed up against the clay solidly, destroying it.

“Oh, yeah, clearly,” Rhett sneered, taking Link’s hand again, gently this time. “Let’s just fucking get through this and be done, okay?”

Rhett guided Link’s hand, and Link softened to allow it. The last thing he wanted to do was spend any more time on this project, any more time with Rhett, than he had to. Together, they shaped the clay, adding in more details, each allowing the other to guide and shape it as they went. Link could feel every breath Rhett took, which made him shudder a little bit. He tried to clear his mind, focus only on the pottery, but this was actually working, them shaping it together was actually producing something lovely, and this all just felt so intense and a little bit overwhelming.

“Gosh, you’re shaky,” Rhett said quietly, his voice tickling against Link’s neck as he tried to look around Link to see their progress. He was taller than Link, so Link wasn’t quite sure why he had chosen the angle he had, but he didn’t mind too much, as long as it let them finish the project. “Must be all that caffeine.”

_Yeah. Right. The caffeine._

“What do you think? Think we can finish it?” Link thought what they had looked good, and he figured they should quit while they were ahead. When Rhett agreed, Link moved to allow Rhett to remove it from the wheel. The last thing he wanted was to screw up their finished work. Rhett carefully transferred it off of the wheel, placing it on a rack to dry before it could be fired. He walked back to Link, getting closer to Link than was really necessary.

“Maybe we should throw one more to be safe?” His voice rasped, deep and husky.

“Ye...yeah… we could do that…” Link said quietly, sitting on the front half of the stool. Rhett positioned himself behind him, getting clay, and they started another piece. But soon, Rhett’s hands were finding their way up Link’s arms, and Link found his head leaning back on Rhett’s shoulder. He felt Rhett’s lips press into his neck, and he reached his hand, covered in clay, to the back of Rhett’s hair.

Rhett stood up, pulling Link away from the wheel, both of them streaked with clay. He pressed Link against the wall, kissing him deeply as his hands trailed under Link’s shirt, his mouth moving to plant kisses along Link’s jaw, his neck. Link gasped and writhed under his touch and his kisses. “Fuck, Rhett…” He loved the way Link was practically breathing his name, just making him hungrier. He pulled Link closer, and Link toyed with the buttons on Rhett’s shirt, clay rubbing off on it. Rhett pulled back to look at Link, to really look at him, and in this moment, his smug grin, his jerky persona, it had all melted away under the clay and Rhett’s touch. Link stared into Rhett’s grey-green eyes, seeing far more insecurity than his know-it-all attitude gave off. Rhett was just about to lean in to kiss Link again when they heard footsteps walking outside of the pottery studio. They pulled themselves apart, each returning to their wheel, as the door opened. Each of them became intensely focused on their pottery, stealing glances at one another, small smiles, as the student who had come in took her place at a wheel.

“Wow, you guys look like you’ve been really hard at work. You’ve got clay all over!” She smiled.

“Yeah, uh, sometimes you just get really into it and make a mess,” Rhett chuckled. He used his hands to scoop his clay off of the wheel. “I think I’m about done for the day. See you around, Link?” He winked over at Link, and the smile on his lips seemed like he was suggesting that Link follow… at least in a few minutes, so as not to seem too conspicuous.

“Yeah, later, man.” He put his focus back on the pot he was working on as Rhett left, trying to get the clay to do what it had under Rhett’s guiding hands. After a few minutes, he gave up, scooping his clay aside and stopping his wheel.

He didn’t get two steps outside of the pottery room before he heard the smile in Rhett’s voice. “Took you long enough, man. I thought maybe you decided to stay there.”

“Nah. Wanna get coffee?”

“Sure, man. Let’s get coffee.”


	2. 2 Mixed 2 Media

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After coffee, the boys take a detour on the way home. The next day, Rhett's everywhere Link doesn't want him to be.

Coffee didn’t just mean coffee, but then again, it never did. 

They’d spent so much time in the studio that by the time they made it to the coffee shop, it was less than fifteen minutes to close. 

“Maybe we shouldn’t even bother,” Link says uncertainly, hands stuffed in the pockets of his jeans. 

“Nah, we can just sit outside with ‘em,” Rhett says, intentionally bumping into Link’s arm as he passed by him as if to say _come on_ , just for the sole purpose of making contact. 

That should grate at Link’s nerves. Would have not even five hours earlier, but now it’s all Link can do to let Rhett walk into the coffee shop. All he can do not to drag him by the wrist to somewhere secluded, to shove him back against a wall like Rhett had done to him in the studio.

With coffees in hand, the boys sank down into the metal patio chairs outside the little coffee shop while the baristas inside closed up. The spell from the studio seemed to be broken and Link wasn’t sure how to get it back. His thoughts kept drifting back to the way Rhett’s big hands had felt as they cupped and cradled his own, as they moved up his arms leaving streaks of slip on his skin. As they dipped beneath the hem of his shirt and shoved his back against the wall, kissing the breath out of him. 

He didn’t realize it, but his distracted thoughts were affecting the conversation. 

“…earth to Link. Dude, am I boring you?” Rhett asked, feeling a little uncertain after all. Earlier, things had gone from frustrated to heated so fast it had made their heads spin, but that didn’t mean anything else had necessarily changed. Rhett’s sitting with the lid off of his frothy tea-based drink, eating the whipped cream off of the top using his straw like a spoon. 

He really couldn’t be more wrong, though. 

Link _doesn’t_ know what Rhett had been talking about, but not because he was bored by it. Because he can’t stop thinking about the spot of whipped cream caught in the strip of hair on Rhett’s chin. 

“What?” Link feels himself flushing, feels caught, and fumbles with the lid of his coffee, busy fingers shaking with nerves or something like it. “Sorry, man, I just… I’m distracted.”

“Yeah, I can tell,” Rhett’s catching on that Link might not be _bored_. That his uncertainty seemed to be unfounded. Rhett’s attention flicks down to Link’s hands and it’s a goddamn wonder he hasn’t spilled his coffee all over the table with how much he’s shaking and fidgeting. “I oughta take that coffee away from you before you knock it over.”

“I’m not gonna spill it,” Link says, forcing his hands to steady, gripping the paper cup tight and feeling the warmth spread through his fingers. “What was it you were saying?”

He manages to stay still for all of two seconds before his hands are moving again, picking at the dried clay in the lines of his hands and fingers. 

“I was saying my last class lets out tomorrow at six if you wanted to hit the studio again, throw another pot,” he pauses, gauges Link’s reaction. “Y’know. To be safe.” 

It’s the only class Rhett doesn’t have with Link, his wood working class. 

“I can’t be there till eight. I’ve got a late studio on Thursdays,” Link says of his figure drawing class. “Friday I’m done at four, though…”

“Me too,” Rhett says. But of course he is. Aside from the one class they’ve each got without the other, they’re in all the same courses. “After dinner?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Alright, cool,” Rhett says, catching another sweep of whipped cream precariously on the end of his straw and keeping it balanced as he pops it in his mouth, trying like hell to hide the big goofy grin that’s threatening to break out over his face. 

“You’ve got something…” Link says, tapping his own chin just below his mouth, indicating where Rhett’s still got whipped cream. 

“Hmm?” Rhett asks, and draws his thumb along the wrong side of his mouth. 

“No, it’s…” Link gestures again, and when Rhett fails, _again_ , to catch the whipped topping with his thumb, Link impulsively leans across the table and swipes it off with a quick brush of his fingers. “—there.”

Rhett’s eyes follow the movement down and then dart up to Link’s lips as he licks them.

  


* * *

  


Rhett finds himself shoved up against the wall of the writing center building along the edge of main campus. What had started off as an offer to walk Link back to his dorm when inviting him to Rhett’s apartment had failed was turning into very slow progress across the quad. That progress had, in fact, pretty well halted by this point. 

It’s not quite pitch black with all the street lamps around the perimeter of the grass, but it’s secluded enough with the high bushes around the building, shielding them from the view of anyone who’s on the other side, on the sidewalk. 

“…just come back to my place, man…” Rhett breathes when there’s air in his lungs, has to put hands on Link to keep him at a distance just to get the words out. 

“Can’t,” he manages, pushing at Rhett’s forearms, fighting him off so he can get close again. “Class at nine,” he explains, the words hot on the freshly exposed skin of Rhett’s collarbone as he tries again to work those buttons free. 

“I know, I’m in it, too,” Rhett answers, trying to hold the hard edge of annoyance in his tone and failing when he feels teeth on his skin, lets out an undignified whimper. He doesn’t know what to do with having his invitation refused like this when things are going _like this_ , and it’d be easier to argue with him on this point if only he could stop letting out these soft sounds. 

“C’mon, my whole house’ll be asleep, I’ll wake you in time…” _fuck_ , something Link’s doing to his neck steals a goddamn gasp from him and he feels his breath catch in his chest. Eyes closing, he tries desperately to steel himself against Link’s fucking mouth. 

“There’s no way I’m going to lecture in this clay-caked shirt. Everyone’ll know,” Link’s got half the buttons on Rhett’s shirt undone, his dry and dusty fingertips brushing over every inch of skin he can reach. 

“…then let’s go back to your dorm,” Rhett tries, frustrated to be refused when Link so very clearly doesn’t want to stop. 

“I got a roommate.” 

“Kick him out,” Rhett says, trying to regain the upper hand somewhat, his hand coming up to curl against the back of Link’s neck, thinking about turning them. About taking the offensive. Instead he waits, eyes searching Link’s, hoping. 

“No way, man," Link says and tries to shut the taller boy up with his mouth, kisses him hard and catches him by the shoulders with a shove. Rhett doesn’t take kindly to the move and buries his hand in that long dark hair, fingers curled tight. It’s Link’s turn to moan and it’s the furthest thing from dignified. 

Link finds himself pushed back against the smooth, cool stone quickly enough, Rhett’s broad hands rucking up his shirt. The coarse hair of his chin tickling when his mouth strays from Link’s, moves along his jaw to his neck. Link lets out this quavering gasp that raises the short hairs on the back of Rhett’s neck, has him crowding into Link’s space like he just can’t get close enough. 

Link’s resolve is starting to break. Maybe he could make Greg sleep in the lounge for a night. God knows he’s been sexiled more than enough that he’s got the returned favor coming to him. He doesn’t know just how far he’d like to take this tonight, but he’d certainly like to get quite a bit further than he thinks they safely can risk out here on the quad. 

“…m-maybe—” he starts, trying to find his voice, which comes out far more broken than he’d like it to. But he’s not able to get out anything more than that before they’re interrupted. 

“Hey. You two. Knock it off before I’ve gotta write you up.” There’s a blinding circle of light illuminating them. The boys jolt apart, eyes wide, hurriedly and awkwardly fixing their shirts, trying to look as if they hadn’t just been caught in a compromising position. 

Link’s beet red and rubbing his hand nervously over his lips like he’s trying to hide the fact that they’ve gotta be kiss-swollen, shouldering his backpack. “We w-were just walking home…”

“Yeah? Didn’t look like walking…” the campus officer doesn’t look particularly amused, but he’s also definitely not hassling them unnecessarily. He’s just gotta do his job, which is to make sure all the kids are safe and not letting things get out of control all out in the open on the quad where anyone could be walking by. 

“We’re going,” Rhett says, finishing fixing his buttons and pulling his backpack on, eyeing the guard. 

“Where you headed?” the guard asks. 

“I live in Lee,” Link stammers. 

“I’m up off Henderson,” Rhett answers, chin jutted out like he’s daring the guard to push for more than that, despite the fact that he’s red from his ears right down his neck. 

The guard isn’t in the mood and gives them a nod, switching off his light and gestures with the butt of it in the direction of Lee and the off-campus housing where Rhett lives. “Go on, then.”

They keep a distance between them as they walk away towards the far edge of campus, Link with his hands stuffed in his pockets and Rhett gripping the straps of his pack tight. The silence stretches on awkwardly until Link looks back over his shoulder to see if the campus cop is still following them, and a laugh explodes out of Rhett and doesn’t stop coming. 

“The hell is so funny, man?”

Rhett can’t control it, presses one hand to his chest as if that’ll help quell the laughter eventually, but it doesn’t. 

“Hey. Quit it, man, it’s not funny,” Link snaps, giving him a shove, which only serves to make him laugh harder. 

“I said shut up!” Link’s _pissed_ and Rhett still just can’t reign it in to save his goddamn soul, laughing long and loud and obnoxious. 

“Go fuck yourself,” Link swears at him before taking off, walking fast for his dorm which, by this point, isn’t very far away.

  


* * *

  


Link’s gotta see Rhett’s face all day long, from lecture right through history which ends at 3:30pm. There’s breaks in the middle, but it’s gonna be a long six and a half hours till their shared classes are done. The only blessing in any of this is the fact that they don’t have the class today that they’re partnered together for, so Link doesn’t have to speak to Rhett. Just has to deal with his non-stop presence. 

He does his best to flat ignore him, focus on the class and take notes, but he can feel his attention wandering away from the professor in every single class. His thoughts turning to memories of how it felt to be held against the concrete wall of the studio, the stone wall of the building last night, how it might feel to find a quiet corner in the back of the lecture hall and…

Link feels eyes on him and looks up to see Rhett staring from the other side of the room, his gaze intense and unwavering. Link frowns at him, the attention unwanted, but he’s giving himself away with the rise of color coming to his cheeks. Clicking his pen, he slowly pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose with his single extended middle finger while staring Rhett dead in the eye. The message he’s sending is clear. 

So he thinks. 

The answering sporfle of laughter infuriates him and breaks the flow of the lecture. 

“Mr. McLaughlin… something funny that you’d like to share with the class?”

“No, I’m sorry…” 

The only save in this is how mortified Rhett suddenly looks to be the focus of attention in the middle of lecture, and Link feels pretty pleased with himself over having gotten some measure of revenge.

  


* * *

  


When Link finally settles into drawing studio, he’s significantly more relaxed than he’d been all day. No more Rhett for the day and he can just settle in to two hours of drawing and let the stress of the day dissipate. This is his favorite class and he looks forward to it on Tuesdays and Thursdays, even though it runs as late as it does. The reason being that the models they get tend to work during the day, or are students themselves and this is a time that tends to work better for them. 

Link sets up his space on the far right of the room, away from the window where the late afternoon sun slants in because this is the light he likes best. To be in line with the deepest shadows. He’s clipping his newsprint up to the easel when he looks up and sees Rhett walking into the classroom wearing a navy terry robe. 

His heart is in his throat as he follows him with his eyes, watches as he moves to the center of the room, the raised platform in the center of the circle of easels. 

Rhett’s the model. Rhett’s the _model_. 

Link’s panicking. He can’t stay for class. He can’t honestly be expected to draw Rhett like this. To draw him _naked_. But he also can’t leave. What would he even say? And if he did, if he came up with some thin excuse to get out the door, Rhett would win. He’d know he’d got under his skin and Link would never hear the end of it. No, he’s got to stay, but _God_ , how is he going to survive this?

He’s furious with Rhett. How _dare_ he ruin his last bastion of peace on campus. The only place he has in his week, aside from his dorm room, where Rhett isn’t, and here he is. 

Link catches himself staring and looks away, not wanting anyone catching on that he’s feeling… how exactly _is_ he feeling? Damned if he knew. 

“Alright, everyone, some of you probably share some core classes with tonight’s model… Rhett McLaughlin’s in the 3D art program. He kindly offered to fill in for Jill, who had a family emergency,” the professor introduces the class to session, his voice warm and even. 

“We’re going to start with gesture drawing, quick and loose… thirty seconds for each pose. We’ll go for ten minutes and take a break. Rhett, are you ready?”

The tall boy nodded and let his robe drop, draped over the stool at the back of the platform. Every eye in the room is on Rhett’s nakedness, though no one reacts, no one says anything. It’s like there’s this hush, something sacred in this space that holds composure, that sets the mood. This comfortably heavy sense of non-sexual intimacy, of being let in to see what’s usually reserved for that person themselves, or for a lover. 

That’s the way it normally felt for Link, but it’s different now. The atmosphere is ruined because it’s Rhett and he can’t shake the unsettled feeling he has. There’s nothing he can do to get his composure back, his calm, because it’s _Rhett_. Naked and not even twenty feet away from him. He has to hand it to Rhett, though, he’s not staring directly at him. Not making this too obvious. 

Link, on the other hand… he’s drinking that tall boy in. All six-foot-seven-inches of him and then some, eyes dragging down his chest the way his hands had last night. There’s nothing left to the imagination today, not a bit of him concealed from view. His attention does go _there_ , but there’s so much more to look at than just the soft cock nestled between his legs. There’s the soft swell of his belly, his muscular thighs and sloped shoulders, the freckles on his chest, the line of his neck… 

Link doesn’t realize until the timer’s already beeped three times that he hasn’t drawn a goddamn thing. The rest of the class is three poses in and Link hasn’t put charcoal to paper. 

_Beep._

Rhett crouches down, most of his weight on his front foot, back foot tucked up beneath his ass for balance as he extends his arm like he’s holding out an apple or beckoning someone or something in. That’s when he looks at Link, really looks at him. Catches his gaze and holds it like the pose is meant for him, like it’s an invitation to take his hand. 

_Beep._

Fuck, Link still hasn’t drawn anything. He glances up, sees the professor starting to make his way around the room. 

Rhett moves to one knee, the other leg bent, foot flat against the floor and he stretches his arms up in the air, tips his head back. Link can’t help but think about how he’d tasted his way down the line of that neck not twenty-four hours earlier… and starts, frantically, to put sketches on the page. They’re shitty and tight and small, nothing like his usual loose and large gestures of any other day. But he’s desperate to get something down so he doesn’t get called out. 

As the professor moves around his station, he catches Link’s eye and raises his eyebrow at him. For now, he’s not saying anything but the expression says all it needs to, for the moment. Link knows he’s fucking up, but it’s just warm up. He tries to take a deep breath, tries to get out of his own head and just let himself slip into the rhythm of this. To find the dance in the motion of the model and the charcoal over stage and page, to lose himself here. 

But he can’t. 

And it gets worse when they move into longer poses. 

Rhett sinks to the floor with knees spread wide, the long line of his thighs cast in shadow, arms bent and held up over his head like he’s holding a basket, like an offering. His full cock nearly brushes the floor and it’s a couple of seconds before he can tear his attention away from that to look at anything else. He’s got to draw this, he _has to._ If he doesn’t, the professor’s going to say something and he’s going to be embarrassed in front of the whole class and God, it’s got to be obvious, doesn’t it?

So he gets going, uses his charcoal to find the darkness against all the light. Cuts shapes of him out of the recycled white page, focuses too much on the lines of his neck, the shape of his chest as it narrows into his waist. He’s going in for too much detail too soon in the face, wanting to capture the curve of his mouth like a photograph. Like he’s afraid he might lose it at the end of this ten minutes, when the long pose changes. 

He hasn’t realized yet that if he tries to finish the drawing he’ll run out of page, that he hasn’t done an outline, a sketch, hasn’t spaced the image on the paper. That’s all pointed out to him as the professor makes his way around. 

“Nice detail, but the proportions are all off… here, here,” he taps the pad with the back of a pencil twice, talking just loudly enough to be heard by those closest. That the rest know that criticism is being voiced, even if they can’t hear just what. “If this were a feature session, I’d say good, but you’re supposed to capture the whole pose, but if you keep going with his arms you’ll run off the page… where are you going to put his hands?”

Link can think of more than one place he’d like to put Rhett’s hands. His face goes red and he stammers something that’s entirely inaudible, finally mumbling, “Sorry.”

“There’s still about five minutes… flip the page and start again,” the professor says, rapping his pencil into his palm and walking to the next easel. 

What he’s got by the end of the pose isn’t anywhere near as complete as everyone else’s. It fits the page and he’s got all the big shapes, but he’s so focused on not coming into too much detail in any one place that he feels like he hasn’t done justice to anything. Maybe the next pose will be better.

_Beep._

Rhett moves to stand and stretches, gives his arms a good long shake to get the blood back into his fingers. Ten minutes is a long time to sit with your arms up, after all. His knees are pink from kneeling so long and Link can’t help his mind wandering… well, truth be told, he hasn’t been able to keep his mind from wandering the whole time, to things that could be done with Rhett on his knees. He thought it’d get better once he stood, but it’s not. Not with the echo of the pose there on his skin. 

“Do you need a break between poses?” the professor asked. 

“Nah, I’m alright… gonna go for an easier one,” Rhett answered, giving one last stretch before he went to settle down on the stool. He lets his legs spread comfortably and drapes his hand over himself, between his thighs. His other arm’s behind him, hand against the stool he’s sitting on. This is a comfortable pose, one he can hold for the full time easily. 

Unsurprisingly, he’s facing Link head on. 

Link, to his credit, is managing to regain some level of control. He’s not looking right at Rhett, trying his damnedest to pretend he’s not quite a person and just draw him like still life, to put down the shape and shadow of his body and say screw you to the rest of him. But that becomes impossible fast. 

Rhett isn’t having being ignored. He’s staring Link down, eyes locked on him, and Link looks up from the page and finds himself trapped in that stormy gaze. _Fuck_ , there’s a second where he forgets to breathe, where the charcoal stops scraping across the paper and he just stares back at him. For a second it feels like they’re alone, just he and Rhett, like the other students just fall away and fade to black. 

He was mad at Rhett before. He can’t for the life of him imagine why, now. 

He tries to force himself to start, tries to force himself to continue laying down lines and shadow and he’s barely settled on just where and how when he catches a bare hint of movement. Rhett ever so subtly presses his thumb against his cock while staring him down like he means to devour him and there’s no fucking question that the move was meant for him. 

Suddenly Link can’t think of anything but the cock concealed by that big hand and whether or not it’s growing hard. 

He can’t work like this. His drawing is shit and he’s never wanted it to be _good_ more in his entire life. He wants to capture the shape of that long body in front of him on the page so he can look at it later. But he’s not doing Rhett justice. Bits and pieces are okay, but he wants to render him photographic to the paper and keep him tucked away where he can look without the scrutiny of other eyes on him. Wants to be able to tape it up to the wall of his dorm room so he can remember the way the light played on his thighs when his roommate’s asleep and he’s touching himself beneath the covers. 

Later, he doesn’t know how he made it through the rest of the class. The rest of the poses, all of them feeling chosen intentionally to prolong Link’s torture. All of them aimed to put Link in the best or worst vantage point, depending on how you were thinking of it. 

But he made it. He stayed through break rather than packing up and rushing out, simply because he didn’t know what he’d say if he did. How he’d explain why he had to go. He was spoken to again by the professor, redirected to come in soft and broad and slowly pull the shapes out of the page rather than going in to one part of his body and trying to render it completely. Hands everywhere at once in broad sweeps instead of both hands smoothing down one area slow, capturing every detail but losing the breadth of the image.

He made it home to his dorm room with his big portable portfolio in one hand, his art bin in the other. ‘Please let Greg be out, please let Greg be out,’ he prayed silently to himself the whole way home. Never in his life had he needed an empty room as badly as he did tonight, just… twenty minutes to himself with a door that locked. 

“Hey, Link, wanna play Mario Kart?” Greg asked cheerfully the second Link walked through the door. 

Great. 

“Hey man…” he answered, trying to hide how incredibly disappointed he was to find the room occupied, “…maybe later. I need to shower first.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for liking, commenting, and subscribing. ;)


	3. The Mixed and the Media: Tokyo Dick

Not even five minutes into class, and Link is already distracted. His mind flashes back to all the things he thought about in the shower, back to the class the day before when Rhett had stared him down. _God, I hope no one noticed._ Link’s hand moves across the paper, and to the unobservant eye, it looks like he’s taking notes. Instead, he is making up for the time he was too stunned to sketch in his class. He steals glances at Rhett, focusing on the mole above his upper lip, memorizing it, then gently forming it’s shape, bonding the graphite to paper with a light touch. Stolen glances turn into full-on staring. It isn’t until Rhett’s cheeks grow round, a smile forming, that Link realizes he might have gotten caught in the act.

He stares down at his paper, then up at the professor. _Focus, Link. Focus. What was she talking about?_ He can’t get his head back into the topic of the lecture, instead adding details… hair, that bottom lip, _that neck that would look so good peppered with purple and red from lingering kisses_ … _fuck._ Link sighs heavily, then immediately regrets it as the professor turns her attention towards him. Luckily, she’s in the middle of a thought and goes back to her lecture without asking any questions.

Link steals another glance at Rhett, then returns to full-on staring when he knows Rhett isn’t looking. His sketch today is far better than the shapes he tried to get down on the page yesterday, distracted by Rhett and his nakedness and his gaze. Link can’t help but imagine Rhett naked, posing just for him. Rhett seemed so comfortable in his own skin, every pose so effortless. He had this air of confidence, without any hesitation or fear as an entire classroom of people stared, placing his form on paper. Link can’t help but feel intimidated, thinking back to that class, and also can’t help but feel aroused by the way Rhett had stared him down as though they were the only two in the room. _Fucking jerk. Who does that?_

Link looks up again, trying to capture the exact way the light is falling on Rhett, how it hits the bridge of his nose and then suddenly, grey-green eyes are locked on his. Link looks back down at his paper, intensely focused on not looking up again, and within minutes, the class is over. He has no clue what the professor was even talking about today.

“Hey, Stef, mind hooking me up with notes? I think I missed a few details and thought maybe your notes would fill in the blanks for me.” Link is hoping like hell that Stef has the notes he needs so it won’t be obvious that he has no clue what happened. Luckily, she agrees and emails them over, his phone pinging before he even leaves the classroom. _She’s a lifesaver._

Link looks down at his phone, scanning the notes, and runs right into Rhett.

“Oh, sure, now you don’t see me,” Rhett laughs, his eyes wrinkling at the corners.

“What the fuck are you talking about? Maybe if you’d actually walk instead of standing in the middle of a damn doorway...” Link tries to elbow his way around Rhett, but Rhett grabs his arm.

“Like you don’t know what I’m talking about. Come here, I want to talk to you about something.” Rhett tugs his arm gently towards the empty classroom across the hall, locking the door behind him once they’re inside.

“Rhett, I don’t have time for this. We have class in ten minutes.” He reaches for the doorknob, but feels Rhett’s hand snake around his waist, his other hand on his neck, gently guiding Link towards him. Link is lost in the feeling of Rhett’s touch, so close to him, breathing him in, and some of his annoyance melts away. Rhett presses him against a wall, out of sight of the small glass pane in the door. He trails kisses along Link’s jaw, small bites on his neck. A small groan escapes Link’s lips, and Rhett takes this as all the encouragement he needs to keep going. His hands tug at the hem of Link’s shirt, tongue lapping at Link’s earlobe. “I want to see it…” Rhett whispers, his voice tickling.

“See what?” Link breathes, his mind reaching to all of the possibilities. See him? They didn’t have the time. Class would be starting soon, and they really needed to compose themselves.

“Your drawing. Did you make me look good?” His lips graze Link’s ear as he says the words, soft and teasing.

“Fuck you, man,” Link shoves him off, ducking away from Rhett and out the door. Rhett follows behind. Where else would he go, when they have the next class together? Link picks up the pace, trying to distance himself from Rhett, feeling his face grow redder with anger and embarrassment. He prays they’ll get to class in time for there to be plenty of open seats, space for him to sit as far away from Rhett as possible. But when he reaches the door, it’s locked.

 _Shit._ Link jiggles the handle helplessly. _No, no, fuck, no._ This professor was a hard-ass. Some of the professors were lax in their attendance policies, but she was not, and she locked the door behind her as she reached the classroom. If you weren’t there when class started, you were locked out.

“What, just going to wait outside? Afraid someone’s going to see that?” Rhett reaches out, grazing the fresh mark on Link’s neck with his fingertips. He grins, pleased with himself for the way he could really get to Link in the few minutes they had in the room. Link reaches up, swatting Rhett’s hand away as he covers his neck.

“No, we’re locked out. We’re late. Thanks a lot.” Link glowers at Rhett, storming away.

“What, you’re not even going to get coffee with me?” Rhett doesn’t give a damn about getting coffee, or the tea he prefers, but he does really like the way he knows the comment will get to Link, and as he sees Link’s neck and ears redden as he walks away, he knows he has succeeded.

Without looking back, Link raises his middle finger in the air and keeps walking. _We’ll finish the sculpture project, and then I’m done talking to Rhett McLaughlin._

* * *

  


**From:** Prof. Amy Smith  
**To:** R. McLaughlin, L. Neal  
**Subject:** Attendance and Assignment

Please remember that attendance in my course is mandatory, not optional. I’m assuming it was the two of you who were shaking the doorknob outside of my room? Punctuality will serve you well in both career and life.

In class today, we paired up for a mixed media painting project. Everyone was given the option to select a partner. You will be expected to combine collage techniques and painting for a single finished work that you each contribute to. Since you were not in class, and since everyone else attended and selected partners, you two will be working together. I look forward to seeing both your sculpture project and your painting.

 

 **From:** L. Neal  
**To:** R. McLaughlin  
**Subject:** re: Attendance and Assignment

I wish these emails weren’t monitored by the schools so I could tell you how I actually feel about this. There won’t be a next time.

 

 **From:** R. McLaughlin  
**To:** L. Neal  
**Subject:** re: re: Attendance and Assignment

What, you didn’t like it? Still want to see that sketch, btw. When are we doing this painting thing?

 

 **From:** L. Neal  
**To:** R. McLaughlin  
**Subject:** re: re: re: Attendance and Assignment

Screw you, man.

You prep it tonight. I’ll paint it tomorrow.

 

 **From:** R. McLaughlin  
**To:** L. Neal  
**Subject:** You’re no fun…

We have to work together on at least part of it. I’ll prep tonight, you meet me there tomorrow night at 8.

 

 **From:** R. McLaughlin  
**To:** L. Neal  
**Subject:** <no subject>

You _are_ going to show up, right?

* * *

 

Link shuffles in with two drinks in hand, fifteen minutes after eight. He sets one on the table near Rhett, taking a swig from the other.

“Aw, how sweet, you brought me a drink.” Rhett’s voice is dripping with sarcastic, over-the-top sweetness that makes Link’s blood boil.

“Don’t read into it. You had to pick a late time, and I need the caffeine. The last thing I need is you falling asleep while I do the work.” Link’s tone is biting and sharp, and it’s clear he just wants to get down to business. “Can we get this over with, or…?”

Rhett tries to put on a serious expression, but he can’t help but smirk at the fact that Link actually got his drink right. The canvas is ready. He’d spent the night before preparing it by collaging strips of newsprint, sheet music, and some paper he found that has a wood grain pattern to it. It’s his way of leaving a personal touch, a nod to his favorite medium.

Link pulls out his paints, lining them up on a bench beside the canvas. He studies the collage carefully, hand reaching out to touch certain parts of the canvas, checking for texture and dryness, and he cocks his head to one side to look past the canvas to Rhett. There aren’t any decent subjects in the studio they’re in, and the teacher didn’t say what they had to paint. The wood grain on the canvas pairs nicely with the red plaid shirt Rhett is wearing, so Link decides he would make a decent subject, if only because he doesn’t want to spend more time with Rhett in search of another option.

Rhett sits, sipping his coffee, studying Link, taking in how Link silently processes what paints to place on his palette, furrowing his brow as he bites the end of his paintbrush between his teeth gently. He glances up over the canvas at Rhett again, then dips his brush in paint. He starts painting, looking at Rhett, then back at the canvas.

Rhett stands, walking towards him and peeking around the canvas. “Whatcha paintin’?”

“Rhett, what the fuck, man, you’re supposed to be over there sitting still!” _How am I ever going to get him back in the damn pose he started in?_ His annoyance is clear, but Rhett doesn’t care.

“Aw, come on, let me see it.” He moves to stand slightly behind Link, pressing his chest into Link’s shoulder as he reaches forward. “Huh, that does kind of look like my… general face shape… a little bit? Not bad, Neal.” The fact that Link has stopped breathing through the exchange isn’t lost on Rhett, and he makes a half snorting, half laughing sound as he positions himself back on the stool he was on.

Rhett makes sure Link is looking at him as he starts to unbutton his shirt.

“Rhett, seriously, sit still. I can’t paint you if you keep moving.” Rhett continues to unbutton his shirt, reaching the halfway point. “Come on, man, this isn’t a nude painting, just leave your damn clothes on.”

“Oh, what, you don’t like it now? I mean, in your class the other day…” Rhett trails off with a cheeky grin.

“Leave. Your damn. Clothes. On.” Link makes sure to emphasize each and every word as he repeats himself so Rhett will get the message. Rhett hesitates, then moves to unbutton one more button.

“Make me.” His nostrils flare, challenging Link. Link sets his paintbrush down, making his way across the room to Rhett. His hands start at the top of Rhett’s shirt, buttoning the second button, then the third, as Rhett hurries to unbutton the top two again while Link struggles with the fourth.

“Really?” Link says flatly, not believing that Rhett is actually playing this game. He struggles to button the shirt more quickly, reaching the bottom of it and making his way back to the top to re-do the buttons Rhett has unfastened again. Rhett is faster, unbuttoning his shirt and clasping his hands around Link’s.

“Here, allow me.” His voice is husky now, and Link gives up as Rhett undoes the button he’d been trying to re-fasten. He slides the shirt off of his shoulders, and it falls on the floor. He peels his white undershirt off over his head, allowing it to join his plaid button-down. Link can’t help himself, his hands reaching out to graze across Rhett’s chest, working their way up to his collarbones, his shoulders. He’s almost intoxicated by Rhett, wanting to pull back but so drawn in. Rhett kisses him. “You know, it was really, really difficult not to get hard in your sketching class,” Rhett speaks against Link’s lips, pulled back just enough to mention it, but not far enough away to let Link go quite yet.

“For you, maybe.” Link rolls his eyes, but allows their lips to meet again, tugging Rhett’s plush bottom lip into his mouth, dragging his teeth along it. Rhett’s hands find themselves around Link’s waist, sliding his shirt up, and Link instinctively raises his arms, breaking their kiss as Rhett removes his shirt. Rhett bunches the shirt in his hand, resting his fist and the shirt on the small of Link’s back as he pulls their bodies closer, Link standing between Rhett’s legs, their heights now matching with Rhett perched on the stool.

“I can’t speak for you, Link, so yeah, I meant me. I’d think more people would have noticed if I got hard, considering.” Rhett pauses to kiss and gently bite at Link’s collarbone, “I saw the professor talking to you, though, so you can’t tell me you weren’t a little bit… distracted, am I right?”

“Fuck you, Rhett,” Link tries to bring an angry tone to his voice, but it comes out a mixture of a whisper and a whimper as Rhett’s tongue traces circles along his neck.

“Mmm, maybe someday,” Rhett pulls back and winks, that same damn cocky grin all over his lips as he leans in to kiss Link again.

* * *

 

“Dammit, my paint dried!” Link slams his paintbrush down on the bench. “Do you seriously have to make everything ten times harder than it has to be?”

“Oh, I’m sure there are some things that I make very, very hard.” Rhett snickers, hands refusing to leave Link’s hips as Link tries to clean up, his nail scratching at the hardened paint on his palette.

“Shut up,” Link groans, stepping forward to release Rhett’s hold on him. “Let’s just try to get this done tomorrow. With your clothes on this time.” Link looks at his phone. 1:45am. Their makeout session had gotten a little bit out of hand, and now Link’s unsure if he can even finish painting tonight. They’re both tired, the effects of the caffeine long since worn off.

“Need me to walk you back?” Rhett offers, leaning against the wall by the studio door.

“Thanks, I think I can handle it,” Link wrinkles his nose up, knowing that if Rhett walks him to the dorm, he probably won’t be able to say no to going back to his place this time.


	4. Mixed & Media

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Link wants to work with anyone but Rhett. Or does he?

CL Raleigh, North Carolina > gigs > talent gigs

reply          ☐ prohibited [?]          Posted 22 days ago

✩ **Nude model (male) with lean/fit build for sketching/painting/photog (Raleigh)**

I’m an athletic college age guy looking to make a couple extra bucks modeling for your art projects, sketching practice, or photography. Experience and comfort modeling nude, long poses. Email to hash out details. Flexible schedule. Negotiable rates. Put Mr. Wuf in the subject line to get a reply.

• do NOT contact me with unsolicited services or offers

compensation: negotiable

 

 **From:** 55281ve6ar9277mar12qu6a1d2f25apa@reply.craigslist.org    Tuesday (3 days ago)  
**To:** xq4gm-2327037965@gigs.craigslist.org  
**Subject:** Mr. Wuf

Hi,

I’m a second year 2D art major looking for a model for a mixed media piece for one of my final projects. Evenings or weekends work best for me. I’m happy to meet somewhere public first if that’s more comfortable for you. This project doesn’t require a nude model, though I would like to sketch a nude model for practice outside of class. I have studio access.

What do you charge?

\- Link

 

 **From:** xq4gm-2327037965@gigs.craigslist.org   Tuesday (3 days ago)  
**To:** 55281ve6ar9277mar12qu6a1d2f25apa@reply.craigslist.org  
**Subject:** Re: Mr. Wuf

Clothed, $10/hr is fine. Nude, $15 depending on the pose. If it’s hard to hold, maybe $20.

No need to meet somewhere public, can meet up at studio to discuss/work.

James

 

 **From:** 55281ve6ar9277mar12qu6a1d2f25apa@reply.craigslist.org    Wednesday (2 days ago)  
**To:** xq4gm-2327037965@gigs.craigslist.org  
**Subject:** Re: Mr. Wuf

James,

You an NC student? I ask cause Mr. Wuf haha  
What about Friday 6pm?  
An hour or two clothed for the MM project, maybe an hour of nude sketch? $35-40?  
I’ll supply coffee for the late meet.

\- Link

 

 **From:** xq4gm-2327037965@gigs.craigslist.org    Wednesday (2 days ago)  
**To:** 55281ve6ar9277mar12qu6a1d2f25apa@reply.craigslist.org  
**Subject:** Re: Mr. Wuf

Yep. Friday 6 works.  
Sounds good.

J

 

 **From:** 55281ve6ar9277mar12qu6a1d2f25apa@reply.craigslist.org    6:03 PM (12 minutes ago)  
**To:** xq4gm-2327037965@gigs.craigslist.org  
**Subject:** Re: Mr. Wuf

You coming?

\- Link

 

* * *

 

Link’s sitting in the studio, unsure if he should set up to work or not. It’s past six-fifteen, and he’s starting to wonder if James was going to show at all.

He’s sitting up on a tall stool, feet hooked in the cross bars, cradling his coffee and flicking the plastic lid with his thumbnail nervously, watching the door. His phone’s out on the table in front of him, his email app open. Every half-minute or so, he pulls his thumb down the screen to refresh the inbox and see if his last email had gotten a reply.

Nothing yet.

He’s starting to think that James isn’t coming and he’s about ready to gather his things and head out when his phone makes a soft _ping_ to let him know an email landed. He sets down his coffee and picks up the phone, tapping the email open.

 

 **From:** xq4gm-2327037965@gigs.craigslist.org   6:27 PM  
**To:** 55281ve6ar9277mar12qu6a1d2f25apa@reply.craigslist.org  
**Subject:** Re: Mr. Wuf

Here.  
J

 

Seconds later, the door opens and Rhett walks in.

Link startles visibly, and there’s a couple of seconds where he doesn’t react because it doesn’t compute.

“What are you doing here?” Link asks, not putting two and two together just yet.

“Workin’ hard for the money,” Rhett answers, waggling his phone at Link before slipping it into his back pocket. He looks pleased with himself for having pulled this over on Link, but there’s a tension in his shoulders that tells there’s more to this than just the prank of it. That beneath the joy he gets from dicking Link around, he’s gunning for a fight.

Link blinks at him in disbelief. “Are you freaking kidding me? What the _fuck_ , dude?”

“What the fuck to you, too, hiring another model to get out of finishing the project with me,” Rhett sounds pissed. Looks pissed, arms crossed over his chest, pointy elbows jutting out at awkward angles.

“It’s cause you wouldn’t stop stripping!”

“...and yet you wanted to buy an hour of,” here, Rhett uses air quotes, _“nude sketch.”_

“Oh, fuck off,” Link snaps back at him, face going flush as he stands from his stool, angrily gathering his things, slinging his folio strap over his shoulder and grabbing for his bin of supplies, but he doesn’t manage to get a step towards the door before Rhett’s crowding into his way.

“No,” Rhett shoves his shoulder, pushing the folio strap off, sending it crashing to the floor. Link reacts automatically, without thinking, pushing Rhett back with both hands against his chest to get him _away_.

“What’s the matter, Neal? You certainly seemed to enjoy the last time I sat for you.”

“You’re fucking delusional. How many times did I have to tell you to keep your damn clothes on?”

“Didn’t seem like you were complaining too much after my shirt came off,” Rhett smiles. He’s cocky, over confident. He’s enjoying how easy it is to get so deep under Link’s skin.

It’s obnoxious.

Link rolls his eyes like a reflex, he can’t not in response to that. He wants to point out that there wasn’t much complaining that could be done with Rhett’s tongue in his mouth, but he doesn’t want to bring that moment to his attention just now. He wants to get out of the studio unscathed, and being this close to Rhett when he’s this angry at him has proven to be a dangerous combination. His fingers barely graze his folio when he ducks down for it before Rhett gives it a kick and it goes skidding away across the dusty tile floor.

“Keep your fucking feet off my portfolio!” Link yells, wants so badly to throw himself into Rhett, haul off and hit him but he’s trying to hold on to the fact that that’s what he wants. Instead, he goes for his folio again only to find Rhett following him as he moves back and dives for it, kicking it again, harder this time.

“Oops,” Rhett says, huffing a _ho-ho_ sort of laugh, too pleased with himself for his own goddamn good.

It’s that that earns him another hard shove, but Rhett’s not having it. Grabs Link’s wrist the second his hand connects with his chest, pulling him right along with him with the momentum of it.

“Let go,” Link barks at him, his other hand coming into play, trying to pry his fingers off of his wrist.

 _“No.”_ Rhett doesn’t budge, his grip like a vice, the other hand coming up to keep Link’s prying hand from making any headway. He’s effectively pinning both hands to his own chest, keeping him from pushing or pulling away.

“Let GO OF ME!” Link shouts at him, throwing his weight into fighting Rhett off which does nothing more than sway the taller boy closer.

The look on Rhett’s face is stormy and intense, eyebrows drawn, near unreadable. He’s upset. Hurt that Link had tried to cut him out of their project, that he’d wanted to see some other boy naked. Nude. To draw someone else. He’s annoyed that he’s as upset as he is, that it matters this much to him. Doesn’t look at it close enough to figure out just what that means.

Rhett doesn’t let go. In trying to throw him off, Link manages to push him so he stumbles back into one of the long low tables that line the perimeter of the room to collect backpacks and coats when class is in session.

Somewhere in the middle of it, Link stopped trying to push him off, instead curling his hands into fists in his shirt, hauling him in and kissing him hard.

The fight doesn’t stop there, just because Link is pulling him close instead of pushing him off. Rhett’s still got hands on him, only now he’s grabbing for his chest, his shoulder. Pushing back, trying to maneuver him. Trying to gain the upper hand without losing this, without pulling back, because he doesn’t want to give Link the space to demand that he stop touching him.

Because right now, the communication between their bodies is enough to let him know Link doesn’t wanna stop this. That he likes his hands on him just like this, whatever else he’d like to have him believe. That this is what he really wants.

They’re leaning so much into each other that when the fight doesn’t abate, they’re losing their balance. The table catches Rhett just barely, but he can’t disentangle himself fast enough to throw out an arm for balance, to catch himself from falling. They’re falling before they realize it, the loud screech of the table’s legs skidding along the tile floor the only warning that they’ve lost their anchor.

They land hard, mouths parting briefly through the fall. It should be enough to sober them, to snap them out of whatever this frenzy is, but it’s not. As soon as they’re down, they’re moving, magnetic. Link’s on him so fast it’s hard to believe that just seconds before, he’d been yelling for him to let go of his wrist.

Rhett’s big hand buries in Link’s hair when he’s back kissing him, more teeth than lips and tongue. Link’s kissing him like he’s got a score to settle, like he’s out for blood.

This is what keeps Rhett coming back for more. He’s never had sex like revenge. Even though they haven’t had sex yet, that’s how this feels. Like when they come together it’s to take retribution.

Rhett tries to leverage his size and his weight to flip them, less because he wants to hold Link pinned and more because he wants to keep pushing, prodding, instigating. Wants to see just what will happen if he keeps toeing into the no-man’s land between them. He almost manages it, has him half-turned when Link whips his leg around Rhett’s and squeezes _hard_ , thighs a vice grip.

“Fuck you,” he grinds out as he pulls from the kiss enough to gasp a breath.

“...fuck, please…” Rhett slips, lets the words fall out in the space between their mouths.

Link isn’t the only one hard in his pants from just this, he realizes as he tries to hold Rhett pinned with his legs and his weight. Rhett’s half-begged plea starts to lift the fog from his lust-addled brain, starts to focus his attention on what it is that’s going on, what’s slipping beneath the radar here.

“...get off me,” Link mutters in a daze, pulling back to keep the distance he’s gained as Rhett tries to lean in to bridge it.

“You’re on _me,”_ Rhett’s voice is rough, low.

Link’s hand finds Rhett’s face, thumb dragging over his cheek, and he yields. For a moment, lets himself sink back into the mess of this. Kisses Rhett, forgetting himself, hand continuing on down over jaw, neck, collarbone. Link feels the twitch of Rhett’s cock against him through their pants, _feels it_ like this, like a pulse, and has to break for air.

Link doesn’t say anything as he moves. It’s all he can do to break away as it is, to disentangle himself from Rhett’s long limbs. To pull away from the hard press of their bodies aligned just so. He can’t look at him, keeps his eyes averted as he stands, pushing at Rhett’s hands as the taller boy reaches to pull him back. He stops trying after he’s pushed off twice, just lays there watching Link move to his feet as fast as he can, gathering up his folio and bin and going for the door, steadfastly avoiding casting so much as a glance in his direction on the floor.

It’s a while before Rhett can gather himself enough to get up, to leave. Part of the reason is he wants to be absolutely sure he doesn’t run into Link on the walk back to his apartment, wants him to have enough head start he doesn’t need to even see him on the walk across the quad. Normally, he’d jump at the chance to keep an eye on his backside for a long walk between classes, but not now. Not after this.

 

* * *

 

It’s the following Wednesday morning and they’re in lecture again. They had lecture Monday, too, and the rest of the classes they shared Monday and Tuesday as well. Link hasn’t said a word to him. He’s made sure not to look at him, either. It’s as if he doesn’t know Rhett, his eye passing over him like he doesn’t exist.

All this nothing is way too much.

Across the room, Rhett can see that Link’s got his laptop open, for once not taking paper notes. Rhett tabs into his email.

 

 **From:** xq4gm-2327037965@gigs.craigslist.org    9:47 AM  
**To:** 55281ve6ar9277mar12qu6a1d2f25apa@reply.craigslist.org  
**Subject:** Re: Mr. Wuf

You didn’t pay me.

 

It takes a couple of minutes for Link to notice the notif. You couldn’t tell that he did when he does, because it doesn’t register on his expression even slightly.

 

 **From:** 55281ve6ar9277mar12qu6a1d2f25apa@reply.craigslist.org   9:51 AM  
**To:** xq4gm-2327037965@gigs.craigslist.org  
**Subject:** Re: Mr. Wuf

You didn’t do anything worth paying for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't use craigslist unless you know how to use it safely, arrange to meet for goods to buy or sell in a public place, and let someone know where you'll be (and preferably bring someone with you). Don't ever use craigslist to arrange for services (like modeling gigs or massages). The internet is a scary place and people aren't always James the random model from Raleigh... and sometimes they're not Rhett James McLaughlin, either. Sometimes they're Mr. Timn with an eye to [Kill You](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q1ooP59iykI).


	5. Mixed 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Link is listening to in this chapter is [Set on Fire by Magic Giant](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cpVy0I2XpUc).

Rhett is sulking back to his apartment after class.  _ What the fuck does he mean by “nothing worth paying for?” _  Sure, he wasn’t actually expecting Link to pay him. He’d done no actual modeling, after all. He had sent the email to send a message: you can’t ignore me, you can’t ignore what happened. But Link’s response was clear.  _ I can, and I will. _

Link is fuming after class, seething over the fact that Rhett has the nerve to email him, to remind him of that. It’s clear he doesn’t want to talk to Rhett, doesn’t want to even look at him. How can he? They’re going to fail if they don’t finish their projects, and it frustrates the hell out of him that Rhett knew it was Link and came anyway, let Link believe he was “James.” If only he’d had some hint that it was Rhett, some clue, aside from them both being students at a massive school. But no, he had no warning, and suddenly, there Rhett was in front of him.  _ Jackass. _

Before Rhett realizes what’s happening, his feet are taking him to the studio instead of his apartment. He’s standing in the doorway of the space they’d shared just a few nights ago, and he’s not sure why he’s even there. He isn’t going to finish the project without Link, even though Link was clearly happy to finish it without him. No, the rest of the project was more Link’s strength anyway, his skill-set. Rhett isn’t a painter and he recognizes that in himself.

He scans the room, eyes landing on the spaces their bodies had the night before. He closes his eyes, and for a second, he can almost hear the sounds that escaped from Link during their fight. He doesn’t let himself linger on this, though, instead allowing himself to draw out the annoyance he’d felt, the frustration at Link asking someone else to meet him here, bringing coffee no less! It seemed personal, like a way of pushing Rhett out of their shared project, and his blood boiled. His eyes snap open, and it’s then that he spies a pair of paintbrushes on the floor near the corner of the room. He picks them up, turning them over. They must have fallen out when they’d struggled over the bag the other night. Along one edge, he sees in careful print “L. Neal.”  _ Of course.  _ Link would be the kind of guy who writes his name on every single supply.  _ What is this, grade school?  _ Rhett stuffs the brushes in his backpack and leaves, shutting out any other thoughts from that night.

* * *

Greg’s peeling her shirt off. He’s not sure he even remembers what her name is, but she is  _ fine _ . She giggles as he’s planting kisses along her collarbone, and he flings her shirt across the room without looking. They’ll find it later. Right now, he’s focused on enjoying this. They’re a tangle of limbs, and before Greg knows it, they’re trying to find that shirt again. She’s pulling her jeans on, fastening them, when he spies the white fabric hanging over the back of Link’s bed. He tugs on it, it’s somehow stuck. As it finally releases from the bed, papers spill out with it. A dozen or so sketches, some on larger newsprint, some on notebook paper, one on a napkin, are now scattered on the floor. As Greg picks them up to put them back where they came from, he notices every single one is of the same face, the same chinstrap facial hair, the same mole, the same long torso. Greg feels her slender arms wrap around him from behind him.

“Hmm, what are those?”

“I don’t know, they’re my roommate’s.” He says as he shoves them back behind the bed.  _ Weirdo. _

* * *

Link’s looking for his keys as he walks back to his dorm, but returns to find the door partially opened. He nudges his way in, sees Greg playing video games on the couch.

“Hey, man,” Link says, tipping his coffee towards Greg in greeting, drops his backpack by the door, then walks over and props his folio next to his bed. He fishes out a drawing, something he had been working on days ago and abandoned, and stashes it between his bed and the wall. He doesn’t want to look at it anymore, but he can’t seem to throw it away, either. He turns, and Greg is staring at him, unblinking. “You okay, Greg?”

“Fine.” Greg is short, and for the first time Link can remember, doesn’t invite him to join the game. Link shrugs and perches on his bed, opening his laptop. He plugs in his headphones and zones out, rearranging his playlist instead of going over class notes like he’d planned.  _ Which one of us set on fire? ‘Cause we both went up in smoke. Which one of us cut the wire?  _ Link hummed along with the Magic Giant song, tapping his foot against the wooden bed frame in time with the music.

He doesn’t hear the knock at the partially-open door, doesn’t even notice Greg get up to see who’s there.

“Hey, is… is Link here?” Rhett’s not sure why he’s asking. He can clearly see Link’s foot tapping, even with the door obscuring most of the rest of his slender frame.

Greg’s eyes scan Rhett up and down, all six feet and seven inches of him, almost indignantly, like he was annoyed that this giant would darken their doorway. His nostrils flared. “Yeah. Why?” his arms crossed over his chest.

“I had some paintbrushes of his, just wanted to return them. Can I come in?” Greg’s standing in the doorway, and even though he’s much smaller than Rhett, he’s intimidating. It’s clear he’s not comfortable with the thought of Rhett coming into the room.

“Link. Some guy’s here for you. LINK!” Greg has to yell to get Link’s attention, his eyes closed now as he bobs his head to whatever song he’s listening to. Link hits the spacebar, pausing his song, and takes his headphones off. He walks to the door, and Greg turns to walk away. Link steps out in the hall, closing the door most of the way behind him, leaving it open just a crack. He leans against the wall beside his door.

“Coming to collect payment?” Link rolls his eyes.

“No, I… I was joking. You’re avoiding me. And I wouldn’t care, but we have two projects due and I’m not letting you ruin my grade.” Rhett’s tone is somewhere between hurt and annoyed, and it seems like he  _ does  _ care about more than just the projects.

“So you came all the way to my dorm to lecture me on our projects? How the fuck do you even know where I live, anyway?” Link didn’t recall telling Rhett which dorm he lived in. “You stalking me or something?”

“What the crap, man, no. You told the guard the other night. It’s not that hard to find you from there. Your name’s on the door.” Rhett gestures at the whiteboard positioned on the door, Link and Greg’s names both scrawled on it. A string with a cap, but no whiteboard marker, hangs from the board.

“So basically you took like, one off-handed mention of where I live to someone else and like, searched the building for me? Like that’s not creepy.”

“Oh, yeah, you’re one to talk about creepy, Mr. ‘I-hire-nude-models-on-Craigslist’.” Rhett’s still angry at Link trying to cut him out of the project, and his tone is biting, like it was intended to hurt.

“You’re the one with the fucking listing!” Link’s voice gets higher in pitch at the end, and he’s shouting now.

“At least I didn’t try to cut you out of our shared project, jerk!” Rhett gives Link’s shoulder a hard shove, but with Link against the wall, he doesn’t budge much.

“You know why I can’t finish the damn project with you! You won’t fucking work with me! You have to just fucking… fucking… UGH!” Link throws his hands in the air, words completely escaping him as his volume increases. They’re in each other’s space, too close for comfort, but with Link against the wall already it isn’t like he can take a step back.

“Oh, yeah, like you’re one to fucking talk. It’s not like you tried to stop me the other night.”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP, RHETT!” Link feels his face go red, then buries his face in his hands, dropping them as soon as he becomes aware that it only shows Rhett how much this is getting to him. He’s not going to give Rhett what he wants.

“You had to fucking start all of this, didn’t you? If you could have just thrown a damn pot without screwing it up, none of this shit would have ever happened!” Rhett matched Link’s volume, both of them escalating, oblivious to the people walking past them to their own dorms until one of the other students mutters “God, get a room.”

“What the fuck did you say?” Rhett turns, but they’ve already walked past. Rhett turns back to face Link, and Link is fuming.

Link reaches out, shoving Rhett backwards, hard enough to make Rhett sumble towards the wall behind him, across from Link.

“Why the fuck do you always have to be such a jackass? You weren’t doing any better with yours, and that’s your fucking major, isn’t it?”

“Fuck you, Link. I know how to throw a pot, I was just distracted by you being all--”

The door to Link’s dorm room flies open, yanked with a reckless force that, were it less solid of wood, may have yanked it off of the hinges entirely. “Hey, Chinstrap, would you shut the fuck up?” Greg snaps, then turns to Link. “You want to take this lover's spat outside? I’m sure we’re all sick of listening to it.”

“Hey, stay the hell out of this!” Rhett steps forward, between Link and Greg, squaring his shoulders and balling his fists. The anger he feels toward Link is now built up, and he’s ready to blow.

“God, Rhett, I can handle my own roommate, thanks,” Link says harshly as he grabs Rhett’s arm, tugging him back. But then it hits him, and he turns his focus toward Greg. “Did you just fucking say--”

“Yeah, I fucking said it. You’re not that slick. You think we don’t all know?” Greg’s eyes are burning into Link, like he’s angry at god-knows-what.

“Hey, man, chill, this has nothing to do with you!” Rhett’s back in the middle again, somehow maneuvering his arm and shoulder between Link and Greg again, standing halfway in front of Link like he’s forming some sort of human shield.

Link reaches up to grab Rhett’s shoulder, whipping him around. “That’s it. You’re done. Get the fuck out of this building before I call campus security!” He shrieks the words, shoving Rhett back with both hands. Rhett grabs his backpack and stomps off.

* * *

Link’s pacing his dorm, pinching the bridge of his nose as he mentally sorts through what happened.  _ God, I fucking hate him!  _ Link wasn’t really sure which him he was referring to, even in his own mind. He hated Rhett, hated how smug he was and how much he got under his skin. He hated the way Rhett looked at him, the way he distracted him every time he’d start removing clothing, or anytime his tongue would poke out from between his lips and…  _ fuck. Why the fuck did he even come over in the first place?  _ Link was pretty sure he’d made it clear he wanted nothing to do with Rhett McLaughlin.

On the other hand, he hated Greg. How dare he insinuate that he and Rhett were lovers, that this was anything more than what it was: an argument about their projects.

“What the hell was wrong with you, man?” Link turns to Greg, and he is still unsteady, annoyance still coursing through his veins.

“The hell is wrong with me? Really, Link Nudes? You’re now seeking out naked dudes on Craigslist and I’m just supposed to be cool with you bringing them around here?”

“I wasn’t… it was… I was hiring him for sketching practice! And I didn’t bring him here!” Link nearly squeaked the words, overwhelmed with his frustration.

“Sketching practice. Right. That’s why you’ve got a fuckton of drawings of him behind your bed? That’s what you get off on?” Greg practically spat the words at Link, and it left Link feeling like he’d been punched in the stomach. He shoved the drawings into his folio, then grabbed a handful of clothes and pushed them into his backpack. He grabbed the essentials-- laptop, backpack, art supplies-- and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him. There’s no way Link feels comfortable sleeping there tonight.

Link finds himself wandering the campus, and it isn’t long before he’s at the studio, which is thankfully empty. He fishes a blank canvas out of his bag, and some paints. As he dips his brush into red paint, his mind flashes back to his argument with Rhett, how Rhett had shown up without warning when Link was trying to avoid him. He swipes red messily across the canvas. He thinks about the way Rhett mocked him, sending that email.  _ Swipe.  _ His mind focuses on the way Rhett unbuttoned his shirt as he worked so hard to re-button it.  _ Swipe. _  He thinks about the way Rhett’s hands settled on his, taking control of their pottery, and how it had ruined the pot at first.  _ Swipe.  _ Link had been seeing red, angry at Rhett from day one, before they’d ever worked together, because he was just such a know-it-all. And he translates that onto canvas, red swipes at random. Before long, the canvas is almost completely red, as if Link had just poured the paint onto it instead of swiping. Each thing he hates about Rhett is a swipe across the canvas, and the covered canvas shows his rage well.

_ That’s what you get off on?  _ Greg’s words ring in his ears, in his mind. Without thinking, he grabs the knife he typically uses for cutting mats for finished pieces and stabs the canvas, dragging it, hearing the fabric rip.  _ Stupid.  _ He stabs again.  _ Fucking.  _ And again.  _ Prick. _  And again. The canvas is riddled with holes and Link realizes the echo of his scream in the empty studio space, the primal sound of absolute rage coming from his mouth. He slams the knife down beside him, pressing his fingers into the holes on the canvas and ripping as hard as he can. “FUCK!” He throws the canvas to the ground, then walks to the wall, back against it, and sinks to the floor.

His body shakes with sobs. He’s not sad so much as angry, overwhelmed with frustration and hurt. The entire day has left him weary and he just can’t handle it.  _ What the fuck am I going to do? _  It takes him time to cry himself out, compose himself.

When he’s finally got it all out, he cleans up, breaking the canvas frame down and placing it in the trash can. He washes his brushes, the red of the paint washing down the drain, his own rage starting to melt into numbness.

He finds himself walking toward the coffee shop. As he sits there alone and drinks his coffee, he wonders where he’ll sleep. He can’t sleep in his own room, can’t go back there yet with how Greg acted earlier. He can’t sleep in the common area of the dorm knowing everyone heard the fight earlier, sure rumors were flying. He picks up his phone, scrolling through contacts, then places it back on the table. He wonders if there’s any way he could get away with sleeping in the studio, but pushes that thought aside. His phone vibrates and he almost chokes on his coffee.

  
  
  


**888222**

**Today** 7:40 PM

 

Free drink with purchase of burrito, tomorrow only. Txt STOP to quit. Txt HELP for help.

  
  
  


Link sighs heavily. He’d hoped the text would give him some sort of idea of where to stay, hoped maybe it would be from a friend. He’s trying to think of someone he can call or text, see if he can stay over, but no one comes to mind. Well, one person comes to mind, but there’s no way in hell he’s asking him. He takes another sip of his coffee, the cool breeze causing him to shiver.  _ Fuck it. _

  
  
  


**McLaughlin**

**Today** 7:57 PM

 

I never did ask. Why’d you come by earlier?

 

[Ellipses appear, then disappear at 7:58 PM]

 

[Ellipses appear, then disappear at 8:01 PM]

  
  


**Today** 8:03 PM

You in your dorm?

No.

 

[Ellipses appear, then disappear at 8:04PM]

 

I’m at the coffee shop.

  
  
  


Rhett doesn’t respond, never even starts to type. Link crosses his arms on the table and lays his head down on them, exhausted. He pokes his head up once in awhile to take a sip of coffee, but otherwise just buries his face in his arms, unwilling to sit up in his chair. He hears something placed on the table next to him, two subtle  _ plinks  _ on the metal, then a chair scraping across the concrete patio. He lifts his head to see two paintbrushes and a new cup of coffee next to his near-empty drink. In front of him, Rhett leans back in his chair, hips forward, sunk low like he’s draping himself on the chair rather than sitting in it.

“I found those in the studio. I think they fell out of your bag. That’s why I came over earlier.” Rhett says the words so casually Link second-guesses himself, almost thinking the entire fight earlier was a dream. “You, uh… you okay?”

“Why were you at the studio?” Link wonders if Rhett had gone there to finish their project without him. Not that he has any right to blame him. He’d tried to hire James, before he knew that James was just Rhett.

“I…” Rhett pauses, like he’s trying to choose his next words very carefully. “I’m actually not sure. I just went there, and the brushes were there and I thought I’d return them to you.”

“You could have just brought them to class,” Link starts in on the coffee Rhett had brought him.

“Huh. I guess I could have.” Rhett scratches at the strip of hair along his chin. “Your roommate seemed like a real nice guy.” The sarcasm isn’t lost on Link.

“Greg? Yeah, he’s… kind of a dick.” Link considers asking Rhett if he can crash at his place, knowing there’s no way he wants to go back to his own dorm. He thinks better of it, shaking his head, and Rhett cocks his head to one side like he’s watching Link’s own mental warfare, studying it. A few long moments of silence go by.

“So he knows that we…”

“No, God no. I mean, I didn’t tell him. But I guess he figured it out.” Link doesn’t dare mention how, doesn’t bring up the sketches that he’s been keeping tucked behind his bed, the ones he now has tucked in his folio. He’s kicking himself for holding onto them. He can’t stand Rhett, isn’t sure why he holds onto the sketches, but for some reason he does.  _ I can hate him and still appreciate his body.  _ Link tries to justify it within himself.

“You, uh…” Rhett stops talking mid-sentence, like he’s not sure if he should continue. He takes a long sip of his tea, then sets it back on the table. He dips his head slightly to catch Link’s lowered gaze. “Do you need a place to crash?”  
  


* * *

 

As they walk back to Rhett’s apartment, Link’s walking too close, and they bump into each other. Link jolts away, trying to keep more space between them, but their bodies act as magnets and before either of them realize it, they’re in each other’s space again. Rhett’s hand brushes Link’s wrist, and Rhett decides to take charge, pressing his thumb to the outside of Link’s wrist, his forefinger and middle finger to the inside, almost like he’s trying to take Link’s pulse instead of hold his hand. Link’s not having it. He appreciates Rhett letting him come over, sure, but that’s all this is. A place to crash. He wordlessly tugs his wrist away, and Rhett sidesteps to increase the distance between them again.  _ Stupid. Why’d I do that?  _ Their silent thoughts mirror each other in the darkness. Rhett isn’t sure why he tried touching Link, and Link isn’t sure why he stopped him. They both choose silence over words, though, and eventually they are at Rhett’s apartment.

Rhett unlocks the door, nodding at a guy stretched across the couch, a remote in one hand and a beer in the other.

“Looks like the couch is going to be occupied tonight, so… my room?” Rhett leads Link to his room, and Link places his stuff on the floor, stacking it carefully next to a wall, like he’s trying to take up as little space as possible in Rhett’s room. Rhett tosses a pillow and a couple of blankets onto the floor, gesturing, and Link correctly assumes it’s his place to crash that night. He spreads a blanket out, then places the pillow onto it.

“Thanks,” Link says quietly. But as he tries to fall asleep that night, he’s struggling. His pent up frustration from earlier is returning as he feels his hipbone and shoulder pressing into the hard floor. He rolls over to the other side, only to face the same problem on the other side, same hard floor, different hipbone. He sighs and rolls onto his back, but the floor is unforgiving, painful on his bony, thin body. He turns onto his side again.

“Oh my God, would you  _ just stop? _ ” Rhett’s irritation is obvious. “Just come here so we can both get some fucking sleep already.”

“What?” Link asks for clarification, making sure he’s hearing correctly.

“Get in the damn bed, Neal. I won’t bite. I’m tired and you’re wearing me the hell out by tossing and turning over there.”

Link decides not to protest, picking up the blankets and pillow off of the floor. He places the pillow on the bed next to Rhett’s, then rolls the thicker blanket up, placing it next to Rhett like a barrier. Rhett snorts into the darkness, finding the whole thing comical. They can make out, press against each other’s bodies, in a studio where anyone could have walked in, had been caught making out on the quad by campus security, but in the quiet darkness of his room, now is when Link decides it’s better they don’t touch.

“What?!” Link snaps.

“Nothing, man. Night.” Link tucks the other blanket around himself. When Rhett’s alarm goes off in the morning, he’s hit with a wave of horrible morning breath. As he opens his eyes, he finds Link laying atop the barrier, one arm draped across Rhett’s chest. Rhett hits snooze and closes his eyes, turning his face away from Link’s near-toxic open mouth as he gives in to ten more minutes of sleep.


	6. Mixed & Media 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little less animosity, a little more conversation. Also making out. Also, I'm bad at summaries.

When Rhett’s alarm goes off for the second time, Link groans and makes a lazy swipe in the general direction of the sound but misses by a long shot. Rhett's more awake than he is, not having gotten back to a terribly deep sleep in the last ten minutes. He’d tried, but he hadn’t really tried hard enough because even when he’d closed his eyes and turned away from Link so that he wouldn’t drift back to sleep and dream of being on the precipice of a garbage dump, he couldn’t help but be terribly aware of his proximity. 

Link’s more asleep than awake, but that doesn’t stop Rhett from talking to him. 

"So you sleep like this but won't even hold my hand?" Rhett asks, a heavy dose of sarcasm covering over the real sentiment beneath. 

He’d felt like he had to say something, had to try and diffuse the awkwardness he’s feeling. Like if he said nothing then there’s gonna be this silence between them that’ll end up making Link recoil. Not that that’s not still a possibility even now. It’s hard to know sometimes just what’s gonna end up setting Link off, something or nothing at all. It’s not that he wants him mad, he doesn’t. At least, not so mad that this tenuous thing between them breaks. It’s just this has been a reliable way of engaging with him so far, of ensuring that they butt heads and clash rather than drift apart.

That dig seems to bring Link up a few levels of sleep. The unfamiliar alarm had started him waking up slowly, but when snooze was hit he’d slipped back down, dipped back into a dream he’d been having that he wasn’t sleeping alone. 

That comment pulls him out of it and he moves with a start, makes it obvious he’s not really asleep anymore. And that means the clock is ticking, he’s gotta react or get up or do something before too long or it’ll seem like this is exactly where he’s wanting to be. 

Feeling like he’s running out of time, he makes the decision to pretend like he’s more asleep than he still is, use it as a cover, see if it won’t buy him another few seconds sprawled out against him. This early in the morning, this fuzzy from sleep, it’s hard to remember just why he’d been annoyed with Rhett yesterday in the first place. Of course, Rhett’s doing his damndest to remind him. 

“Mmmng,” he grumbles and pulls his arm back, lets it drag heavily against Rhett’s body where they’re touching, at once withdrawing from and stealing one more moment of this closeness. “...yer an ass.”

“I’m not the one who went from building an Amish-style barricade with a blanket to sprawling all over me like a damn starfish.”

“Shut the fuck up. Jesus!” Link pushes himself up and away from Rhett, swinging his legs off the edge of the bed and standing. If only Rhett could just hold off with this bullshit sometimes then maybe Link wouldn’t end up so fucking pissed at him all the time. This morning, that anger doesn’t bring them together, it pushes them apart. 

Rhett watches as Link moves to where he’d neatly settled his things against the wall, watches him pulling clothes out of his backpack. Rhett’s replaying the last two minutes, wondering how he could have done it differently. How he could have gotten Link to stay with him just a little bit longer. 

The assholeishness drops away and Rhett stretches his arm up over his head, tips the alarm clock to get a good look at it. They’re doing good for time -- normally, Rhett would hit it at least once more. “You can shower if you want… it’s upstairs, straight across from the stairs.”

Link’s still upset, but he’s also in dire need of a shower and at least a swish of mouthwash before class, and seeing as how he’s here and not at his dorm he doesn’t have much choice besides edging back towards civility. 

“Yeah, thanks,” Link says, trying not to sound as pissed as he’s still feeling. After all, Rhett was generous to let him stay. The least he could do, he supposed, was try and stuff his temper. He stuffs his rolled up t-shirt, jeans and underwear under his arm and pauses at the door, “Do you have a spare towel I can borrow?”

“Oh… yeah,” Rhett says, reluctantly getting up (because he’s gonna have at least ten more minutes to stay in bed, if Link’s gonna go first) and heading to the closet. Pulling it open, he reaches up to the shelf at the top and pulls down a big white towel that’s thin and worn at the edges, but clean, and tosses it to Link. “There you go.”

“Is it gonna be weird… with your roommates and stuff?” Link asks, feeling nervous and out of place. It’s an odd feeling to have side by side with the level of irritation he’d woken up feeling. 

“Nah… Ben’s gonna sleep till at least ten thirty, and Amy's been gone. She’s got an eight am class.”

“Ouch.”

“Yeah, that’s pretty much the consensus of opinion,” Rhett says as he goes to flop down on his bed again, feet dangling off the end. “Don’t use all the hot water.”

Link flips Rhett off over his shoulder as he pulls the door open with the other. 

“‘Oh, thank you for letting me sleep in your sweet apartment, Rhett. And thanks for letting me shower so I don’t show up to class smelling super funky, and for loaning me a towel.’ ‘You’re so welcome, Link, it’s the least I could do when you looked so pitiful outside the coffee shop last night,’” Rhett models how the exchange would go if Link had the manners to say thank you. Or, something like that. 

It earns him a sneaker flung in his general direction, but Rhett’s not upset by it. He’s laughing, actually, because he’d caught sight of Link’s crooked smile in the seconds before he’d slipped out the door, just after he’d let the shoe fly. 

 

* * *

 

Rhett hadn’t ended up just staying in bed while Link showered. For the first couple minutes he had, laid there straining to listen to the noises the house made, trying to hear Link moving through the living room and up the stairs to the bathroom. As time stretched on, lingering in bed in the morning without the aim of falling back asleep, and after so recently having not been alone, his thoughts turned in a direction he really can’t indulge right now. He doesn’t know how long Link’s gonna be gone, and every passing second is one second closer to him coming back to gather up his stuff and head off to campus. 

It didn’t change the fact that, laying there, straining to hear if Link had turned the water on or not yet, he’d really, really wanted to rub one out. 

Finally, he decided that if he didn’t get up and do something else he was gonna be in danger of accidentally starting to touch himself. So he got up and moved around the room, fixing things that didn’t need fixing. He found a pair of dirty, worn boxers on the floor that had been discarded there when he’d gotten home from class a couple days before and cringes inwardly. That had been there the whole night, right out in the open for Link to see what kind of a slob he was. Well, it’s not so much the messiness that’s embarrassing, but the fact that it’s underwear… that’s just not how he’d wanted to come off. He tosses them in the hamper, along with a balled up t-shirt and a pair of socks, before stopping himself, realizing that if it looks like he’d cleaned up too much in the ten minutes Link was gone, that’d look strange, too. Like he was trying too hard. 

Turning, he sees Link’s folio leaning up against the wall and considers going to take a look at what he’s been working on. He really shouldn’t. For exactly the same reason it wasn’t a good idea to get started jerking off, it was a terrible idea to snoop in Link’s portfolio; there was a huge likelihood of getting caught. 

His curiosity gets the better of him, though. He’s wondering if Link had managed to find someone else to model, dwelling on the possibility of it, and of whether he’d been working more on their project alone. He moves to the door, opens it and listens -- the water’s still running -- so he shuts it again and leans the folio away from the wall and unzips it, pulling out a stack of sheets tucked to one side and flips through them. 

A couple of them are bic pen on college ruled sheets, the sketches from class, but there’s pages pulled from his sketchbook and newsprint. They’re all _Rhett_. In every drawing it’s studies of his face and the angle of his nose, the line of his mouth. There’s gesture drawings trying to capture the way he moves and the slope of his shoulders. And there’s those sketches from class, charcoal smudged out from being handled so much without having been fixed first. But they’re fixed now to prevent further damage, to keep them from getting muddier than they are. 

Rhett doesn’t know what to do with this. 

It’s not like he hadn’t known Link was drawing him, especially during class. Both classes, sketching class (when everyone had been) and lecture. He’d called him out on it after that lecture, in between pushing his slight frame up against the wall of an empty classroom and trying to steal his way under Link’s skin the way Link’s been there beneath his for what feels like so long. There beneath the surface like an itch he can’t scratch. 

Does this mean that he’d been there all along? In that instant he’s replaying things that have happened between them, how awkward he’d been in sketch class, like he didn’t know what to do or where to look. When, later, they’d been working on their mixed media piece and Link had gotten so upset that he wouldn’t stop taking off his clothes. When they’re fighting, when he thinks he’s pushed too far… through it all, he’s been drawing things like this. And keeping them close, handling them, carrying them with him. 

He puts them away before he ends up getting caught, trying to arrange them the way they’d been in the folio. Zipped back up, he leans it up against the wall and goes to flop down in his bed and wait for Link to finish in the bathroom. 

He knows they’ve got to deal with getting to class on time (though he thinks that Link’s probably going to, unfortunately, head out before he does) and getting through the day and the rest of the week and find time to work on their projects, but right now all he can think about is the bundle of drawings in Link’s portfolio and what they mean. It feels like they change everything, like it filters it, like it reads differently now. He can’t stop thinking about them. 

 

* * *

 

The day passes quickly enough. The lecture and classroom classes seem to drag on, but then again they always do, it’s not like that’s anything new. By the time Studio’s wrapping up, people are getting their things together, getting ready to go. There’s a couple of stragglers -- Rhett and Link are among them -- but before long even the stragglers start to pack up. 

A girl is washing her arms in the sink, trying to get some of the paint off of her before she goes home for a shower, and Rhett’s starting to think thoughts about dinner. Has been for about a half hour, but he’s been lingering because Link shows no sign of budging from his stool. 

Rhett looks up from his work at Link, brushing his hair back with one clay caked hand, giving his sleeves an awkward push with his filthy hands. It’s not the worst his shirt will have seen today, if he’s honest. He should have taken the flannel off before he’d started, but by the time the sleeves were in the way it was too late to do anything about it. 

Link’s been texting off and on through most of the studio time. Rhett thinks he knows Link well enough by now that he can tell from his body language that whatever it is that’s going on isn’t good. And he’d be right, it’s not. Greg sent him a text just before Studio to ask that Link give him a heads up next time before he invites somebody over. 

Link’s temper sparked alive in response to that because that’s _never_ been the rule. They’d been texting back and forth intermittently for about two hours about it, Link calling him out for being a hypocrite and Greg coming back with _it’s only polite._ Greg had the gall to claim that Link’s the only one who’d ever brought someone that disruptive to their dorm room when, A. Link hadn’t _brought_ Rhett anywhere and B. has Greg _heard_ the girls he invites to their room? Link’s had to sleep in the lounge -- the far lounge -- so often because he’d been sexiled it wasn’t fucking funny. And Link’s never once brought someone around, not _once_. 

And, for the record, he still hadn’t. Rhett had just showed up. He’d definitely not been invited.

Link sets his phone face down after sending back a text he really didn’t want to see the answer to -- Greg just won’t _stop_ and tries to re-focus on his work, but he can’t get back into it. Link’s aware enough of the room outside his ongoing text argument that he knows that everyone’s gone except for Rhett, and he’s just hoping he’ll pack up and go without saying something to him. The day hadn’t been bad -- they’d talked almost amiably at points, chatting on the walk between classes -- but now he doesn’t have any patience left for anything at all. He just wants to be left alone without having to ask for it. 

Unfortunately for him, Rhett’s not planning to let that happen. 

“Hey man, everything okay?”

“I’m fine, thanks.” Link tries to leave it at that. 

“You’re pretty clearly not… I can see it from all the way over here,” Rhett calls from two tables away as he tucks the plastic carefully around his clay piece so it’s still soft enough to work tomorrow.

“Have you ever tried minding your own business?”

Rhett gets quiet, then. Just stands there, his piece all wrapped up tight and ready to be shelved for the night, and watches Link across the room. It’d be easy to just go and give him his space, he supposed. And it’s what Link says he wants, but Rhett can’t shake the feeling that there’s so much beneath the surface when it comes to Link. So much that he can’t or won’t let out.

So he dares to push. Not the same way he’s been pushing this whole time, too hard and with the intent to get a rise out of him, but gently to let him know it’d be okay to let him in. That if something’s going on, he wants to hear it.

“Greg’s still being a dick.” He guesses correctly, if the sudden tension in Link’s shoulders is any indication.

Link thinks he can escape Rhett’s scrutiny through silence, but he’s very wrong. 

“Do I need to go rough him up?” Rhett asks, leaving his station and walking over to a table that would be in Link’s line of sight if he’d just look up. He hops up on the table and tries to wipe his hands off on his jeans, but just proceeds to make a flaky, cakey mess out of himself.

Link is trying his level best to ignore Rhett completely. 

“I’ll bring my crew,” by _crew_ he apparently means his roommates, “Ben’s a bit of a pushover, but Amy means business. We keep a baseball bat in the hall to fight off would-be robbers. We can go kneecap him.”

Try as he might, he can’t help snorting a bitter laugh at that threatening offer, shaking his head and running a hand through his hair. Not realizing he’s got wet paint on his fingers, he smears a cobalt streak in his dark hair as he tucks it back behind an ear. 

“I can handle Greg.” When Link finally speaks, he sounds almost defeated. That tone in his voice is heartbreaking as much as it’s infuriating. Rhett’s not sure if he wants to punch Greg or hold Link more.

“Yeah, but you shouldn’t have to.” 

Link doesn’t know what to make of that, just kind of absently shakes his head like he’s trying to clear his mind and picks up his palette knife and starts absently trying to mix some already crusted over paints together. He’s been sitting there so long doing nothing that the paint he’d set up at the start of Studio is basically garbage by now. 

Rhett can see what he’s doing. He’s doing anything in his power to avoid actually talking about this, to avoid engaging. Link’s hoping Rhett will give up and stop trying, just go away and leave him alone. 

Rhett pushes himself off the table and crosses the distance between them. Out of the corner of his eye, Link can tell Rhett doesn’t seem like he’s got any plan to stop coming at him once he’s got to any set distance -- he just keeps coming. 

Link tries to lean away too late. If he leans away any more he’s gonna fall off the stool he’s perched on. Before he knows what’s really happening, Rhett’s got his long arms looped around him and he’s hauling him in for a hug. Though Link’s trying to fend him off, Rhett still bowls him over and he ends up sliding off the stool anyway, towards Rhett, not away from him. Ends up standing in the embrace, balance offset and leaning into him. 

“Just stop,” Link says, trying to push him off. He doesn't sound angry as much as he just sounds frustrated and upset. 

The instant Link says to stop, Rhett lets him go. Lets his arms fall to his sides. He'd just looked like he needed a hug, and Rhett thinks he knows him well enough to know that he wouldn't ask for one. But if it's not what he wants, he won't force it. 

As soon as Rhett's arms fall away, Link hates himself for asking Rhett to stop, for pushing him away. He’s upset and not thinking clearly enough that letting his impulsivity take over feels easier than the alternatives. It lets him bridge the distance, wrap his arms around Rhett because he feels safe, even if he's an ass sometimes. A lot of the time. 

Even if right now the worst he'd done was ask if Link was okay and offer to beat up his roommate. 

Link's got his hands curled into fists in Rhett's shirt, hiding his face against his shoulder.

“He's such an _asshole_ ,” Link manages, feels like he’s got to explain even though it seemed Rhett already guessed. 

“I know,” Rhett says, bringing his arms back up and around Link’s slender frame, one palm rubbing warm along his broad shoulders. 

“He's trying to act like… like we’ve ever had rules about…” he stops, shrugs, feeling a little defensive about the details, “ _People_ coming over… like he's ever fucking warned me, let alone ask me if it was okay…”

Not that Rhett's one of those _people_. Not that Link has had any people over in the months he's roomed with Greg. It's just pretty clear now that if people were _men_ that wasn't gonna be okay. But he hasn’t said anything overtly homophobic, so it’s not like he even has much to complain to the RA about. The worst that he could say is that his roommate wants to change the rules between them where there hadn’t been any before, and bringing that to the RA wouldn’t help the situation any. Really, it’d probably make it worse in the long run than just dealing with it. 

“...if you don’t want me to rough him up, how can I help?” Rhett feels helpless here. He knows that he’d certainly had a hand in the situation getting as bad as it had, that Greg had apparently taken his coming by to bring the paintbrushes back as _bringing people around_. It’s not just because he feels partly responsible that he wants to help (though that’s part of it), he can’t stand seeing Link so distracted and upset, drawn into whatever awful things Greg keeps saying but not-quite saying. 

Link tries to figure out how to respond, but he’s having a hard time of it. It’s hard to put what he’s feeling into words, and he doesn’t want a solution, he just wants… he doesn’t know. Maybe just to be heard. And Rhett _is_ listening, which is unexpected to say the least. It’d be easier if Rhett were just being a dick the way he often is, too cocky, a little abrasive. He knows how to handle that, knows how to be against that. He doesn’t know how to handle this, and after a few false starts fumbling over his words he feels himself starting to cry. It’s just this uncontrollable sob welling up in him and he tries desperately to swallow it down, but it’s impossible to. He’s breathing hard with the force of it, hands curling tighter in Rhett’s shirt. If he hadn’t been trying to hide his face against him before, he definitely is now. 

Rhett doesn’t need to see Link’s face to know he’s crying, he can feel him shaking in his arms, feel his breath hot on his neck. Rhett wants to make this better but he doesn’t know how. Nothing he’s said so far has helped, not the (only half) joking offers to go rough Greg up or the sincere question _are you okay?_ that he’d opened with. 

In retrospect, maybe kissing him wasn’t the best way to make things better, but that’s what ends up happening. One big hand on Link’s cheek guides him in, but beyond the initial urging closer it feels like the draw wasn’t necessary. Link barely needed more than the suggestion of more to take it, stretching up on his toes, an arm thrown around his shoulders to bring him down close. It’s not the combative kissing they’re used to, it’s different. More desperate somehow, like there’s a weight to it. A gravity that draws them together. 

Link’s fingers curl in Rhett’s hair and he’s moving, over eager, needing to be so much closer than he already is. They stumble back a few steps together until Rhett bumps back against the table he’d been sitting up on earlier. Link’s pushy, hands moving to his shoulders, his chest, urging him up on the table, and Rhett goes. The thought there is… there had to have been a thought there, but it doesn’t quite pan out as Rhett sits up on the table, legs apart to make room for Link and they find out together just how much their bodies don’t line up this way. Rhett’s leaning down to try and steal the kiss back but it’s such a comical reach he can’t help but grin into the kiss when he finally (straining to do so) reaches Link’s mouth.

“Way to make it awkward, Neal,” Rhett murmurs, the words not matching the tone of his voice which is warm and soft. He’s hanging on to the table to keep from falling off for how he has to lean to get close enough to Link, sitting up where he is. 

Link can’t help but laugh at how absurd Rhett looks bending down to reach him. It should have been obvious that this was the wrong arrangement of bodies, that they wouldn’t match up like this, but it hadn’t, in the moment. He’s not crying anymore, hadn’t been beyond the initial burst of frustrated tears, though his face was still damp. He rubs a hand over his cheek a little self-consciously and throws back, “I’m not the one who’s incomprehensibly tall.”

“Incomprehensibly? Are you telling me you don’t understand how tall I am?” Rhett’s grinning down at Link.

In spite of himself and the situation, Link can't help but laugh, “Yeah, it's just so confusing.”

Rhett smiles at Link’s laugh. It feels good to break the tension enough that he feels like he can, that they can re-find something like the sparring rhythm between them, albeit softer, more playful. Rhett slides off the table, so close to Link that their bodies drag together flush as his feet hit the floor, hands finding Link’s narrow waist. With that hold on him, Rhett turns them to reverse their positions and lifts Link up until he’s perched on the table. 

"Make more sense now?" Rhett asks, following him in as he scoots back a bit, coming to stand between his spread knees. 

“Um... yeah,” is about all Link can muster at first, so overwhelmed with everything having happened so quickly, and how Rhett picking him up as easily as he had left him feeling weightless and small, almost as though Rhett could do anything he liked with him. That certainly, he could keep him wrapped up close enough in his arms to forget the last three hours arguing through texts. For someone as tall as Link, that’s a rare feeling and it’s one he wants to hold onto.

Link grabs hold of Rhett’s unbuttoned flannel and uses it as a handle to guide him into another kiss. Once their lips meet, his hands are moving, roaming. Letting go of the hold he’s got on his shirt and rubbing up over his chest, one arm coiling around his shoulder. Now that he’s got him here, he wants to keep him close. He swings a leg out to catch around his waist, ankle hooked at the back of his thigh, anchoring Rhett against him like he’s afraid of losing him if he doesn’t, like he’s a loose ship in the harbor.

It’s all the pull Rhett needs. Suddenly, they’re all hands and mouths, kissing and touching and desperate to stay close until it’s not close enough anymore. Until they need _closer_ and don’t quite know how to get it. It leaves Link clawing for Rhett to get up on the table and Rhett scrambling to follow. Link breaks the kiss, has to suck down air or maybe risk passing out, and shifts back on the table, scooting back from the edge, dropping back on an elbow as his foot braces at the edge, helps him move. It gives Rhett the space to follow. 

And Link watches, eyes dark as he does. As he manages somehow to plant a knee on the tall table, to crawl up over him, pursuing him, and Link moves to let him. Lets his legs spread to make room as Rhett moves over him. His thigh bumps against Link, between his legs, presses there as he hovers over him. The way Rhett moves is intentional. If the goal was to break through the last part of Link that still sometimes fights in moments like these, stolen alone in classrooms and hallways, tries to convince Rhett that this wasn’t something he wanted (even if all evidence proved the contrary) then he’s hit his mark. The sound Link makes as Rhett slowly settles close, letting the length and weight of his body rock closer to Link’s, is nothing he’s ever heard before. Open and needy and honest, and Link can’t do anything by try to angle his hips up and steal more. 

The dip into neediness seems like it falls away when Rhett doesn’t deliver fast enough, so Link takes. Grabs a fist full of his shirt and hauls him in again, kisses him hard, somehow managing to be pushy even though he’s flat on his back on the table and desperate. Rhett manages to awkwardly fight his way out of his open flannel shirt with Link’s ‘help,’ pushing and yanking at it blindly as he refused to give Rhett the room to do the job himself, instead all but forcing Rhett to need to rest his weight against him as he twists out of the sleeves. 

Coming back, one big hand slides up under the hem of Link’s t-shirt. Link’s hands find Rhett’s hips, his ass, urge him closer. Link’s not thinking here, not at all. He’s so wrapped up in this it feels like his body’s on autopilot, like his brain is trailing along behind some distance away. That’s why, as the kissing deepens and the touching grows more bold Link catches his sneaker against the edge of the table to knock it off his foot, and the both of them hear it hit the floor, loud in the otherwise quiet room. 

There’s a suggestion there, an underlying message that _Link wants to keep losing his clothes_ , that even if his mind is six steps behind, his body’s a dozen steps ahead and wants to be naked, laid out and fucking. A message that comes across loud and clear. Rhett pauses for a moment, pulls away from his mouth, gets just enough distance that he can look Link in the eye. They don’t say anything right away, but Rhett can see in his face that as much as he absolutely _wants to_ that there’s something holding him back. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what that is. 

Rhett, well, he’d continue if Link wanted to. If he was all in, but he’s not about to push this. He lets out a heavy breath, warm over Link’s face, and lets his hand rub back down and out from under Link’s shirt, warm and heavy over his belly. Link’s disappointed, closes his eyes for a moment like he’s trying to will himself to put on a different expression when he opens them again, one that won’t put the brakes on this. But at the same time, he’s also willing himself not to cry again and he knows this isn’t where he wants to be when more happens. 

“It’s okay,” Rhett presses a little kiss against Link’s now stubble-rough jaw. 

“Yeah,” he says, though the tone of his voice isn’t so much agreement as it is trying to pull away, get a safe distance. Rhett’s not having that, though. 

“It is,” he presses, nosing into Link’s cheek before he moves, shifts enough that he’s laying by Link’s side on the wide table. He doesn’t move far enough away that he’s stopped touching him, however, legs still pressed to Link’s, hand resting comfortably on his chest. The fact that this isn’t happening tonight doesn’t mean that anything’s changed, and Rhett’s determined for that to sink in. 

They’re quiet a long time -- they need it, time to breathe and recover -- before Link speaks up. 

“I’m not going back tonight…” 

“You wanna stay at my place again? I really don’t mind…” To put it mildly.

Link wants to, that’s the thing. He wants to go back to Rhett’s apartment with him, sink down in bed and sleep. Or not sleep. It’s the not sleeping he’s afraid of happening. It’s not that he doesn’t want more, he does. Just… not tonight. If Rhett hadn’t put the brakes on it, he wouldn’t have, and then he might have ended up ruining something that should be good by trying to bury how he’s feeling with something distracting, something intoxicating. He’s come close enough to that already tonight, he doesn’t trust himself to go back to Rhett’s right now and stop himself again. 

“Maybe.” Link ventures, not quite knowing what to say. “Can we just stay here for a little while though, first?” 

“Yeah… yeah, of course,” Rhett noses against Link’s temple.

 _A little while_ stretches on longer than either of them intended it to. They lay, curled together on the table, talking late into the night until Link fell asleep with his head on Rhett’s shoulder. Rhett’s arm is pins and needles and he’d have shoved Link off a half hour ago if he didn’t finally look peaceful, so he tolerates it way, way longer than he would have if this wasn’t all still so new and tenuous. At some point, he must have fallen asleep himself, because he wakes up to the soft _bleep_ of his phone preparing to power down from low battery and stuffs his hand into his pocket to check the time. 

“Link,” Rhett says, giving him a gentle shove. When he doesn’t stir, he raises his voice, _“Link,_ it’s eight-thirty… lecture’s in a half-hour.”

They don’t even have time to stop off at his apartment for showers, they barely have time to grab a coffee and a bagel at the cafe on the way. And even still, they’re going to show up in yesterday’s clothes, caked in paint and clay from Studio. 

“Oh _shit!”_


	7. Media 7

Rhett grabbed a chair by the wall, his phone plugged into a nearby outlet, and he’s got a long leg stretched out to keep anyone from stepping on it. He peers across the room at Link, smirking and waggling his eyebrows, and Link snorts quietly. A few stragglers scrape chairs around them, making it just in time. Rhett had asked Link to sit next to him, but Link thought with their clothes all messy, the activities last night would be far too obvious if they were together.

Rhett knows most people can put two and two together. They’ve been staring at each other, catching each other’s gaze as often as they can, and it’s showing no signs of stopping. It isn’t just Rhett. He’ll peek up to see Link smirking in his direction, like he’s thinking about something. But Rhett gets it, after how Greg acted, why make it more obvious than it has to be right now? 

Even if everyone in the classroom knew they were together last night, Rhett’s the one getting to replay the memories in his mind again and again, the way Link looked on that table, his lean body stretched across it. Rhett’s biting his lip, and a cough from across the room breaks his focus on the thought. He glances at Link, who gives a sly wink, like he knows exactly what’s on Rhett’s mind.

When class wraps up, Rhett’s checking his phone and it’s almost fully charged. But when he turns around, Link is  _ gone _ . He’s a little disappointed, hoping they’d walk to the next class together, but he stuffs his phone in his pocket and moves on anyway. It’s when he steps out of the classroom door that he’s pleasantly surprised, a hand grabbing his arm, tugging him around a corner and into one of the more neglected bathrooms down a less-used hallway. The door barely closes behind them and Link’s mouth is on his, fierce and intense, little nibbles at Rhett’s lip like he just can’t get enough of him.

He’s tugging Rhett’s shirt like he wants to become not just closer, but a part of him. They can’t close the gap between them tightly enough, even when they’re pressed against each other completely. Rhett’s hands tangle in Link’s hair. They’ve only got a few minutes but Link is making the most of it. And when he knows they’re almost late to class, he pulls away without a word, leaving the bathroom and leaving Rhett to catch his breath wondering  _ what the hell just happened? _

Link’s already in the classroom when Rhett arrives, smoothing his shirt like he still hasn’t fully recovered from their stolen time together. But Link isn’t alone, no, he’s got some girl sitting on the table in front of him. She’s all leaned into him, running her finger along the paint on his collar.

“How’d you get so messy? Getting some early studio time in?” She flutters her eyelashes. Link can’t for the life of him remember her name, even though they’ve had classes together this semester. Link glances over and Rhett looks like he’s trying to set the girl on fire with his eyes. It’s the hateful glare Link’s seen from Rhett before, but completely lacking the lust that Rhett’s laced that glare with just for Link before. Link smiles at him like  _ I’ve got this. _

He’s still feeling a little high from his bold move, dragging Rhett to the bathroom. All the times before, he’s let Rhett take the lead but this time, he wasn’t waiting for Rhett to make a move. And it’s got him feeling bold. He looks her in the eyes, leans forward, and whispers something Rhett can’t hear, but whatever he said, it makes her move. Fast.

Link responds in the only way that he can to her forward move, her unwanted touches. He tells her exactly how he got so messy.

“Didn’t make it home last night. You know, actually, maybe it  _ was _ this morning, hard to tell time when a hot guy’s got his tongue down your throat and his hands all over you in the studio. You kind of lose track of where you’re getting your paint, too.”

As class starts, she’s a few rows ahead of Link. His words had the intended effect-- she left --but now he sees her scrawling on a notepad and sliding it to the friend next to her. He’s certain it’s about him, his ears growing red.  _ Now everyone on campus is going to know.  _ In his mind, he recognizes it’s hyperbole, it’s a big campus. But the art department is so intermingled, everyone sharing classes with everyone, that it won’t take long for word to spread now that he’s said it. He’s kicking himself until he remembers Greg’s probably already telling everyone anyway. Either way, he can feel the paint on his clothes and skin like it’s burning into him, now suddenly hyper-aware of it.

He can feel Rhett staring at him, and he glances over. Unlike their brazen flirtation earlier, the air seems more still, less charged now. Rhett’s got his brow furrowed, like he’s wondering if Link’s okay, and Link knows his concern must be written all over his face, so he turns away quickly. He feels hot all over, his skin almost crawling with the feeling of being so exposed. He knows there’s no way this girl has told everyone. As far as he’s seen, she’s only passed a legal pad to her friend beside her. But every whisper and passed note, Link wonders if it’s about him, Rhett, the way they’re both messy, the words he just said to get her to  _ just back the fuck off. _

The second class is over, Link’s out the door again. Rhett wonders if Link’s waiting for him, he really wants to talk, to find out if Link’s okay. Somehow that girl talking to him shifted his mood. He’d been so deliciously forceful, so intense, and Rhett ate it up, but the second this girl was draped all over him, suddenly he seemed anxious. Rhett watched Link fidget with his pen, his hair, the edge of his paper throughout class, and it’s got Rhett worried. He’s hoping Link is right outside the door again, but when he gets there, it’s clear he’s just  _ gone.  _

Maybe he forgot something, Rhett’s thinking, wondering if he had to go grab a supply or just a quick cup of coffee between classes. It had been a late night. But when Link isn’t in the next class, Rhett’s starting to wonder what’s going on. About a third of the way through, he can’t help but make sure that Link’s okay, so he pulls out his phone.

 

**_Hey, where are you?_ **

 

The message shows as delivered, but Link doesn’t reply.

 

* * *

 

Link can’t take it, can’t stand the feeling that everyone’s looking at the paint all over him and knows. So he does what he has to, skips class to take a shower, wash away the evidence of last night’s tryst. He goes back to his dorm and finds it empty, so he grabs his clothes and shower caddy and scrubs. He picks at paint flecks stuck in his cuticles, watching them fall down the drain. He watches as the suds from his shampoo get colorful, orange, blue, then waits for them to rinse clear, using his fingers to pull strands apart to make sure the paint is fully gone.

He trails his hands down his body, feeling the ghost of Rhett’s touch lingering on his skin. There’s no one in here right now. Everyone’s in class or in their dorms. Last night, he and Rhett got so close, and he’s still got that in his brain, the hungry way they’d looked at each other on the table, the way they’d gotten tangled in each other in the bathroom earlier, the way they’d shamelessly flirted through class, and Rhett’s face is seared into his mind as he closes his eyes. He’s got to take care of this immediately or he won’t be able to get through the rest of the day without yanking Rhett out of the next class and begging  _ now _ . And that wouldn’t help stop the spread of rumors at all, if they’re both missing the next class.

So he’s taking care of this, imagining it’s Rhett’s big hands wrapped around him, stroking. He thinks back to how close they’ve gotten again and again, sometimes in anger and sometimes in pure lust. He can imagine Rhett’s body pressed against him, leans back against the shower wall thinking about how good it would feel to lean back against Rhett instead, Rhett’s arm around him. He’s thinking about how good Rhett is with his hands, the way they can so easily shape clay, and he’s wondering how those skills translate to this, how amazing he’d make Link feel.

He thinks about Rhett’s body-- he’s practically got it memorized, between the times he’s gotten to run his hands along it, and the way he’s studied the sketches he made in class every chance he’s gotten. They’re not perfect, but they’ve been enough to spark the memory to the point that Link can recall every curve and angle of Rhett’s impossibly tall frame.

It’s these thoughts, this focus on just how good Rhett looks, and the way Rhett looked and felt on top of him last night, that push him over the edge. He’s glad he’s alone in the bathroom because the strangled gasp he makes when he comes is obscene, but he can’t help it. He’s exhausted as he finishes up his shower, spent from the night before, the way they’d barely gotten time to sleep, and the intensity of the entire morning.

In his dorm room, Greg’s still gone, and he’s stretched across the bed. He contemplates a nap, lingering in his room when he hears the door open. Greg’s back, and he’s not alone. A girl follows him in, giggling, kissing him as he backs into the room. At first, he doesn’t notice Link’s there, and Link can’t blame him since he hasn’t been back since the day of the fight. But it’s Link’s room, too, and wasn’t Greg just talking about rules, rules he’d made specifically for Link with no intention of following them himself? Link decides to clear his throat, and Greg startles, pulling back. He glares at Link.

“Hey, didn’t we have some sort of rule about asking if we could bring someone back first?” Link’s stare is cold, unwavering. He’s calling Greg out, and it’s clear Greg wasn’t expecting it.

“I didn’t expect you to be here.” Greg says it through clenched teeth, clearly annoyed that Link’s cockblocking him. Link wants to push, is prepared to say something, but his phone beeps. He glances down and sees Rhett’s name on the screen, and he blushes, flashing to his thoughts in the shower.

“That your boyfriend texting you?” Greg nods toward the phone, a sneer on his face, smug.

“Fuck you, Greg.” Link grabs a bag from under his bed, shoves clothes in it, tee shirts, underwear, whatever he can find. Greg turns his attention back to the girl in their room, and she’s tittering again as he lays her back on the couch, ignoring Link in the room. Link fishes to the back of his drawer, pulls out some condoms and the bottle of lube he keeps stashed behind everything else. He tosses it in his bag. He doesn’t know where he’s staying, but he knows if Rhett offers up his place again, he might just need it. He zips the bag and grabs his art supplies and backpack.

Before he heads out the door, he leans back into the room. “Hey, Greg? Whatever happened to the last one? I liked her. At least she was quiet.” Link says it to tell the girl she’s just a toy to Greg, one in a long line of others that have come before her and will come after her. It’s like a revolving door, and the girl sits up with the realization of what Link’s just said.

“Dickweed,” Greg retorts, but before anyone can say more, Link’s flipping him off and slamming the door. He forgets Rhett’s text message, leaving it unanswered.

Link has missed all of one class and is already missing part of another. There’s no use in going now, the professor will have locked the door, so he heads toward the studio, figuring he’ll just blow off the rest of the day, paint instead. He’s set up a canvas board, and he’s not really thinking. He’s got an array of brushes, but today he doesn’t want to use them, he just wants to make a mess. It’s counterintuitive, he knows-- he’s just spent all that time showering to clean off the mess. But that’s not what matters right now.

Right now, he’s dipping his fingertips in the paint, and smoothing a finger down the canvas board, carving Rhett’s jawline into the white expanse on the easel in front of him. Another fingertip dipped in paint, and it’s now the ridge of his nose, one more swipe across the canvas board and he’s working on a forehead, a jawbone. Knuckles in paint press hair upward, getting the general shape. He’ll add final details later.

He just wants to get this image on the board, to get it out of his mind enough that he can focus on something else. Something tells him he won’t be able to. His phone beeps again, but this time it’s not his roommate keeping him from responding, it’s his fingers covered in paint, and he dismisses it. He’ll reply as soon as his hands are clean but right now his attention is on the image coming to life in front of him, the skin tone perfect. He’s not even bothering to wash his hands before he picks up a brush, adds finer lines to his hair, flecks freckles on by flicking the brush toward the canvas with a light splatter. He’s lost in this, alone in a quiet studio.   
  


* * *

 

It’s two classes in a row that Rhett’s present for with no sign of Link. In the second class, he signs Link’s name to the attendance sheet, too, hoping the professor won’t take a head count or notice that Link’s missing. Two text messages left unread, and Rhett’s wondering if the girl upset Link to the point that he’s backing off, backing down, if they lost their moment after that time in the bathroom, if Link’s been building walls as fast as Rhett’s been demolishing them. He takes detailed notes with plans to share them with Link, but after two classes, Rhett’s worried and he has to find him. For some reason, he’s pretty sure he knows where Link will be.

Rhett heads to the coffee shop on campus, the one that’s been a focal point of their better moments. By now, he’s got Link’s favorite drink figured out, and he orders his own favorite as well. Then, he’s taking long strides toward the studio, positive he’ll find Link there. And he does, sees Link standing by the sink, washing paint off of his hands and brushes. Rhett walks over, setting the cardboard cup next to Link on the counter.

“I thought you might need this.” Rhett’s voice is quiet, careful not to disrupt the sacred quiet Link seems to have established by working in here alone. Link stiffens like he’s not sure how to respond, and Rhett takes it as a sign he was right, that Link’s building walls again. And in some ways, Link’s got his defenses up, the girl’s sudden flight and note-passing followed by Greg’s comment about Rhett being his boyfriend both getting to him. But then Link softens. Rhett’s trying, he’s really trying, and everyone knows anyway. They both showed up to class together, barely on time, in yesterday’s clothes, covered in the remnants of studio projects and passionate thoughts they hadn’t fully gotten to make good on.

He turns, his hand reaching out to graze Rhett’s wrist. “Thanks.” Rhett’s setting his tea down, tucking Link’s hair behind his ears and leaving his hands there, and he’s swooping down to kiss him softly. It’s the softest kiss they’ve shared yet, the most peaceful. It’s unhurried, so different from the kisses in the bathroom earlier, and they both lean into it, making it last. When they finally pull apart, careful not to let it go past a single kiss, Link’s smiling again. The knots in his stomach, however, remain. They’ve got to be more careful, not allow themselves to get carried away, because a studio in daytime is just asking for an unexpected audience.

Link repacks his brushes now that they’re clean, gathering his supplies, and it’s then that Rhett’s eyes land on the duffel on the floor. Link doesn’t mention it, just grabs what he can, looking to see if his canvas board is dry. It’s not, so he’s sliding a panel carrier out of his bag for it when Rhett touches his arm to stop him.

“Can I see it?” Rhett’s question seems harmless enough, but Link’s blushing and Rhett is now more curious than ever about what he’s painted. After a long pause, Link finally gives a small nod, and Rhett steps around the studio’s easel to look at the painting over Link’s shoulder.

He’s taking it in, his face in broad strokes, fine details added by brush. It almost looks like Link’s painted it with his hands, and then he remembers the way Link was scrubbing not just his brushes, but his hands as well. He wonders if this is a good time to bring up the fact that he knows about the other drawings, but he dismisses the thought, thinking there’s probably never a good time to say  _ hey, I was snooping through your stuff and found a bunch of drawings of me. _ Instead, he just says “Wow, it looks… it looks really nice, Link.”

“I just started painting and then it was starting to look like you so I kept going.” Link said the words so quietly, almost whispering them into the air like he was embarrassed at his chosen subject, the sole muse for all of his recent artwork.

Rhett leaves a small kiss on Link’s shoulder, subtle, but enough to tell him that it’s a lovely painting. Rhett didn’t want Link to feel like the painting wasn’t okay with him, wanted him to know that he loved it. After all, Link never seemed to leave Rhett’s thoughts anymore, either. Rhett thought about a wood burning project he was working on in his free time, trying to translate what he’d learned from drawing-based classes onto wood. He considered telling Link that he’d been drawing him, too, or rather burning his image into the slab of pine.

Link slips the board into his case, then slips the entire case into his folio, zipping it as it strains under the thickness of the panel case. It’s a bad idea, but he doesn’t have hands to carry the folio, his supply bin, his backpack, and his duffel, plus the case on top of it. The duffel bag is a clear indicator that Link had gone back to his dorm room, and now Rhett realizes, he’s in clean clothes and there’s no paint in his hair. He must have gone back for a shower, a change of clothes. And judging by the bag, it clearly didn’t go well.

“Link…” Rhett starts but then isn’t sure what to say. He takes a long sip of his tea, and Link realizes he’s left his coffee by the sink. He walks over, creating space between them, to pick up his drink and takes a long sip. He’s wondering if Rhett will finish, then wondering if he should say something when Rhett doesn’t.

“I went back to shower. Greg was an ass. The studio is usually really empty at night, I mean, we got away with staying last night.” Link takes another sip of his coffee, and now Rhett’s ready to say something.

“You’re not sleeping in the studio. Please. At least for tonight, come back to my place.”

Link stands there, considering it. He doesn’t answer right away, and Rhett wonders if the space Link has made between them by standing so far away is representative of the emotional distance between them, too. Link knows the suggestion, that he stay over at Rhett’s, just plays right into Greg’s thoughts that Rhett’s his boyfriend, and Link isn’t quite sure that he’s ready for that sort of thing. He’s not really sure where he’s at. He doesn’t want to deal with Greg, and he knows he can’t get Rhett out of his mind.

He’s torn between the defenses he’s always had, the strained tension he has let slip between himself and Rhett for far too long, and the thought of dropping that and letting Rhett in knowing he’s already under his skin anyway. Link’s stayed silent for so long that he worries Rhett might now rescind the offer as he’s studying Link’s face for any sign that he might accept. Link simply nods, agrees, and picks up his bags. They’re missing the last class, but Rhett isn’t too worried about it.

“I took notes for you,” Rhett offers, and Link thanks him. Rhett’s got a free hand, only carrying his tea and the backpack, so he reaches out, taking Link’s duffel, and Link lets him, relieved to have one less thing to carry. Following Rhett back to his apartment feels more comfortable than Link is ready to admit, and anything beats sleeping on a table in the studio again.


	8. The Mixed of the Media

Rhett hangs Link’s duffle bag off the arm holding the empty cup of tea so he can fish for his apartment keys. 

“Want me to hold it?” Link interrupts, stepping forward with a hand out to take it, but by the time he’s stepped forward Rhett’s got the key in the lock. 

“Nah, I’m good, thanks though.” Rhett pockets his keys and lets Link head in first so he can lock the door behind them. Following Link inside, he stands in the entry way re-shuffling his tea and the duffle while he toes out of his sneakers, giving them a kick towards the rest of the shoes. When he looks up, he sees his housemate, Ben, eyeing Link (who’s very aware of it and apparently uncomfortable because he doesn’t know him) as he kicks out of his own shoes. 

“Hey Ben,” Rhett walks the five steps towards the kitchen do chuck his empty cup in the trash before coming right back and finishing his sentence, “This is Link. He’s crashing here tonight because his roommate’s a douchebag.”

Ben, who’d been watching RuPaul’s Drag Race, has now hit pause and has perked right up at the introduction. “Link?”

Rhett, who’s standing behind Link, realizes what’s coming just from the look on Ben’s face and tries to stave it off before it happens. His eyes are huge and he’s making the ‘kill’ gesture, shaking his head no. But it’s either too late or Ben has no interest in paying him any mind. 

“ _That_ Link?”

“What’s he mean, _that_ Link?” Link asks, turning to look at Rhett for guidance here and sees the tail end of that gesture before his attention snaps back up to Rhett’s face, brows knitted with uncertainty. 

“Uh, yeah, pretty sure there’s only one Link in the art program, _Ben_ ,” Rhett puts emphasis on his name with the hope that the (more than slightly) threatening look it’s paired with will do enough to shut him the hell up. 

“You told your roommate about me?”

Ben’s just loving this. Rhett’s turning this ruddy color as he tries to struggle his way through this and he’s absolutely _hating_ Ben right now. If looks could kill, Ben would be dead on that sofa. 

“I guess I must have.”

“Yeah, just a bit,” Ben smiles, glancing between the two tall boys. He has no interest in letting Rhett off easy here. Maybe it’s payback for Rhett serenading him and his boyfriend the first night he’d had him stay over, sitting cross-legged on the upper landing with his guitar in his lap singing love songs dedicated to the both of them. 

“You weren’t lying when you said he was cute.”

The look on Rhett’s face says _’Thanks a lot, Ben.’_ Ben looks absolutely pleased with himself, grinning ear to ear, remote balanced on his knee, ready to unpause his show as soon as Rhett and Link go through the living room to Rhett’s room. Link’s looking back and forth between the two like he’s not quite sure this is actually happening. 

“Goodnight, Ben,” Rhett says loudly and with finality, letting him know the conversation is _over_. He glances at Link, half wondering if Ben’s overshare has caused him to change his mind about accepting the offer here tonight, but instead Link’s taking a step towards where he knows Rhett’s room is, anxious to put a little distance between himself and Ben so he can find out just exactly _what the fuck_. And maybe give Rhett some hell for it. 

Rhett, relieved that Link doesn’t seem to want to leave just yet because of this, moves to follow, trying to stay between Ben and Link, like he can keep it from getting worse. 

“Let me know if you’d like a little music to set the mood…” Ben calls, clicking his show back on while Rhett and Link sashay away.

* * *

Rhett sets Link’s duffle bag down on his bed and then drops his backpack by the desk. He’s steadfastly trying not to look Link in the eye because he’s real aware of how flushed he is, but it’s unavoidable. Even if it was, Link’s not having it. 

“What was that all about?” Link asks, propping his folio up by the door, setting his backpack down next to it. He’s not upset even remotely, he’s just got some questions. 

“I, uh… may have sat with my guitar and sang _Can’t Help Falling In Love_ outside his bedroom door one night when his boyfriend stayed the night.”

That… wasn’t what he was asking, but that’s certainly answers a question he hadn’t known he had. Link blinks, trying to fight back the laugh that threatens to escape. Before he has a chance to think better of it, he says, “I’d love to hear that.”

Rhett doesn’t respond right away because he doesn’t know exactly what to say to that, and with the silence that stretches on just enough to rub the awkwardness in, Link can’t manage to stay quiet. 

“But that’s not what I meant.”

Rhett’s shucks off his two-days-worn flannel shirt and tosses it into the laundry, trying to buy himself some time. He _could_ take off his t-shirt too. If Link weren’t here, he’d just strip and head up to the shower with his towel slung around his waist. Maybe it’s a little silly that he’s going to head up clothed and carry them back down, after. It’s not as though Link hasn’t seen him before. And it’s not like he hadn’t tried to force him to gaze upon his naked chest once while sitting for him. He’ll blame feeling this way on Ben and his contributions to Rhett’s polite introduction. 

Rhett pulls his towel down from the hook and loops it around his neck so he can hold on to both of the long ends, give his hands something to do. “I might have said something to him about you being cute,” Rhett admits. 

“You might have?” Link smiles, one side of his mouth quirking up a little more than the other. 

“Yeah, maybe.”

“I guess I’m okay with that…” Link says, still lingering at the doorway like he hasn’t really been invited in, despite the fact that Rhett had deposited his duffle bag right on the bed. 

“Well, good, cause apparently it’s way too late to take it back,” Rhett laughs awkwardly at his little try for a joke, and moves for the door, stepping to the right in the hope that Link’ll go left and let him out. “I’m gonna shower. I stink, you won’t wanna share a room let alone a bed with me if I don’t.”

“Alright, I’m probably gonna just change and lay down.”

“There’s a half bath off the kitchen if you need to brush your teeth or whatever.”

“Okay, thanks,” Link says, still not moving from blocking the door. 

“Um… I can’t leave unless you move,” Rhett gestures at the doorknob he probably can’t reach without brushing a hand past Link. 

“Oh, right, sorry,” Link says, and moves to lean his back against the door, holding it shut with the weight of his body and fixing Rhett with a look. Technically, he _did_ move. 

“That’s not what I meant,” Rhett sort of huffs a chuckle, eyes dipping down the length of his body, looking just ‘cause he can. 

“What?” Link asks, playing innocent. “I moved… do I need to move more?” he reaches out and grabs hold of the towel ends and uses it to haul Rhett in close, as a handle to guide him in for a kiss. Link apparently doesn’t care all that much if Rhett smells. At least, it’s not doing a damn thing to keep him from trying to get closer. Rhett catches himself, palms against the door so they don’t collide, but that seems to be what Link wants to have happen. 

“...that didn’t help,” Rhett murmurs as he comes up for air, only for Link to chase his mouth. 

“This better?” Link breathes the words soft against Rhett’s lips as he moves, kind of shimmies their hips together, using his grip on Rhett’s towel for leverage. 

Rhett makes this half-pained sound because he wants so badly to continue, but he just feels so gross from not having showered that he really wants to get cleaned up before this goes any further. That means moving away from him, though.

“...I really need a shower, man… can you hold that thought?” he asks, his hand coming to rest over Link’s where he’s holding onto the towel. 

“Yeah… I’m not going anywhere,” Link says, smiling up at Rhett, managing to actually be good for once. He lets go of Rhett’s towel and lets him move away without chasing after him, and when he can, he moves away from the door. 

“I’ll be five minutes.”

Link changes into his pajamas and goes to brush his teeth in the downstairs bathroom before going back to lay down in Rhett’s bed, this time without building a border wall in the center of it. Instead, he lays there wondering about posing or something. Do people do that? He actually tries it, but decides it’s not something he can pull off and settles for just getting comfortable and waiting for Rhett to come back. 

Unfortunately, by the time Rhett gets back to his room, Link’s out like a light. Rhett’s not sure at first if he is, or if he’s just being quiet, because the only light in the room is the desk lamp and maybe Link is planning to mess with him again. He drops his dirty shirt and boxers in the hamper and tosses his jeans over the back of his chair before going to pull clean pajama pants on (because even if they’re doing something once he gets into bed, it’s presumptuous to get into bed naked when they haven’t done anything more than kiss). He clicks off the lamp and moves to climb into bed. 

Pulling back the covers, he slides in, and, when Link’s in the way, he murmurs, hushed because the room is dark, “Scoot in…” 

But Link doesn’t answer him, doesn’t budge. He’s sound asleep, dead to the world, and Rhett is left with a barely adequate amount of bed. He supposes the lucky thing is that if he just waits five minutes, Link will probably flail in the other direction and he can settle in more comfortably. For right now, though, Rhett settles down on his side, facing Link, and does his best to get comfortable.

* * *

Link shifts, trying to bring his arm up to tuck his hand up under his chin, but he can’t -- something’s in the way. He grumbles quietly and tries again, shifting to manage it, but the damage has already been done. That something in the way, namely Rhett, is moving now and it wakes Link up to realize he’s not alone. 

“Mmmn,” he grumbles softly, trying to open his eyes and blinking a couple of times before giving up for the time being. It’s way, way too early to be awake, feels like. 

“Morning.” Rhett’s voice is rough from sleep and coming from real close to Link’s face. He’d been moving, but not away. He’d shifted his pillow and settled back down on his side, facing Link. The truth is he doesn’t have the room to do much else, with how much of the bed Link’s taken up. Not that he’s complaining. 

“Hey…” Link groans softly as he stretches his legs out, feet brushing against Rhett’s calves beneath the covers. 

“Hi.” 

Link’s eyes are still closed in protest against waking up, but he can hear the smile in Rhett’s voice, and it’s contagious. He’s remembering the events of last night, how he’d tried to distract Rhett from leaving the room and how he’d lay there waiting for him to come back with the intention of continuing to be distracting, only to fall asleep before Rhett got back. 

“I’m sorry I fell asleep…”

“Well, I fell asleep, too.”

“No, I mean… I didn’t want to.” Link’s hand moves beneath the covers and finds Rhett’s chest bare. He’d gone to bed shirtless, and the skin beneath his palm feels warm and inviting. 

“...that was kind of the point of my inviting you to crash here, y’know. For you to actually sleep.” Rhett’s playing like he has no idea what’s on Link’s mind, even though he really _really_ hopes he’s right about where this seems to be going. It’s just too much fun to fuck with Link. 

It’s too damn early for this shit. Link’s still too weighed down by sleep to properly roll his eyes but god does he ever want to. The hand on Rhett’s chest slips up to find a nipple and gives it a not-real-gentle tweak. “You know what I meant.”

Rhett groans at that move, flinching in a little closer rather than pulling away from it. _That’s rather telling._

“Oh, would’ya look at that…” Link’s voice warms with interest at Rhett’s reaction. 

“Shut up.” Rhett sounds distracted. 

“Or what?” Link asks, not letting up on that now-hard nub of flesh, working it slowly back and forth between thumb and fingertip. Rhett groans again in spite of himself, having a harder and harder time of thinking coherently. 

“Or I’ll make you.” Rhett’s voice dips lower, a little dangerous. He’s watching Link through the near-dark of the room, the way he’s staring back at him, his hair a pitiful mess from tossing and turning the way he does. 

“Oh, yeah?” he asks, “Like this?” Link leans in for a kiss, but he doesn’t even make it halfway before Rhett’s hand is there against his chest, stopping him. 

“You’re cute, but seriously. You need a mint.” Rhett’s nose wrinkles up, his reaction exaggerated for effect. 

“Rude.” Link’s a bit offended actually. Just a little bit. He doesn’t wanna stop to go brush his teeth or get a mint, cause it feels like it’d throw a wrench in the momentum of the moment, but if Rhett’s gonna be a jerk about it then maybe he will. 

“That doesn’t mean you can’t put your mouth to good use.”

Link freezes at those words, the suggestion of it. 

“You won’t kiss me, but you’re pushing for a blowjob?” Link asks. He’s not against it, not at all, actually, but he’s got to make a comment. Got to say it out loud to keep pushing back, to needle at him, because Rhett had wanted him to shut up and he can’t get _everything_ he wants. 

Rhett’s blushing in the dark, feeling self-conscious for the push for things to go in that direction (i.e., downward). “That’s not what I meant.”

But they both know it was. 

Link takes that as an invitation and a challenge. Not what he’d meant? Alright, fine then. He’s going to find out what it was that he _had_ meant. 

“My bad, I just thought… but you’re right,” he leans in close, nosing his way along Rhett’s collarbone to the crook of his neck, where he lays an open mouthed kiss with a sweep of tongue. “You never said blowjob… I just assumed.”

“Oh fuck.”

Link kisses his way up Rhett’s neck till he finds this soft spot beneath his ear with his teeth and feels Rhett shiver against him. Link can think of a hell of a lot of things to do with his mouth that don’t involve Rhett’s mouth, and he’s got every intention of doing all of them. 

One hand goes to Rhett’s shoulder and tries to push him flat on his back so he can move over him, but as Rhett starts to yield he feels himself falling and grabs hold of Link in a panic. “I’m right on the edge.”

Link’s hand fishes around beyond Rhett and feels the edge of the bed and rumbles, “You’re not gonna fall, you big baby.”

“Move over,” Rhett tries, nudging at Link to no avail. 

“No.” 

With Rhett flat on his back on the edge of the bed, Link finds his throat again, lays biting kisses there and lower, over his chest. His attention returns to his nipples again, given the response it had gotten earlier he can only imagine what it will be when it’s his mouth. He can feel Rhett reacting beneath him, the way his chest is rising and falling more heavily with his breath. 

One of Rhett’s arms is hanging off the bed -- he wasn’t lying, he’s too close to the edge for comfort -- and to give it somewhere to be he stretches it up over his head, grabs the metal bar of the headboard tight in one big fist. As Link starts moving down the center of his chest, his free hand rakes through Link’s long hair, less pushing him down than just touching because he aches to touch. 

Link’s nose is tickling his belly as he moves, making Rhett tense up with shivers that chase down his body as he goes. Rhett’s breathing’s getting a little labored and he’s gripping that headboard so damn tight his knuckles are going white because _dear God,_ how long have they danced around this? Not this exactly, but _more_. Anything more. More than time stolen between classes in empty rooms or pressed up against buildings on campus, more than late nights in the studio. 

Link’s nearly to the waist of his pajama pants. His hands are already there, holding himself up with one elbow pressed to the bed, the other hand bracing at his hip for balance, thumb dragging back and forth over the elastic waist. Rhett’s so hard and he can feel that with how they’ve moved around in bed, he’s poking out of the front of his pajamas obscenely. Not that Link’s hand is there, but he’s so close he could duck his head down and _just--_

Rhett feels Link’s warm breath over his half-exposed cock and panics. “You don’t have to--”

Rhett doesn’t know why the hell he’s backtracking now. He’s kicking himself for it immediately, but at the same time… Link doesn’t have to. It’s important that he’d said it, because suddenly the way he’d asked for it feels really pushy and one-sided and he’s not sure if it’s really okay. 

Rhett’s heart is beating out of control, heavy in his throat, and he looks down. Sees Link’s attention shift up from his cock to his face, their eyes locked as Link licks his lips with a slow grin. “Shut up.” 

Link doesn’t bother pulling his pants down. Instead, he rubs his hand down Rhett’s hip and thigh and back up, pushing the button-fly of his pj’s open more, exposing his cock more. He curls his hand around him and oh, but he's _thick_. He's seen him naked before but he hasn't seen him like this, hard and wanting. He's felt it before, when they're making out in that headlong way, like there's no way to possibly ever get close enough. But he hasn't seen him hard, hasn't felt the weight of it in his hand before now and fuck if it's not just perfect. Link’s mouth is watering from how desperately he wants to get a taste, see how much of him he could handle.

For all the false starts and close calls they’ve had, now that they’re this close there’s nothing getting in Link’s way. 

He licks his lips deliberately and starts slow, just the loose grip of his hand and the soft press of his lips to the head. Link’s real good with his mouth and he knows it, but it doesn’t erase the edge of nervousness that comes with every first. His eyes flick up the length of Rhett’s torso to look and gauge his reaction, to see if this is good. If he likes it as his tongue sweeps out to lead the slow slide down. 

Rhett can’t seem to make his mind up, if he wants to look or if he needs to move. Goes back and forth between letting his head fall back to sink into how this _feels_ and looking down to see what Link is doing, watch him as he takes more of him into his mouth, lips stretched around him, obscene. 

Rhett dares a hand into Link’s hair as it starts to fall in his face, and Link leans into the touch. Soon, it’s both hands and he’s tucking shaggy locks gently behind his ears to keep them from falling in his eyes. Selfishly, it’s so he can see him better. So he can watch. But he wants his hands on him, too. He’s wanted permission to get his hands in that mess of hair for so long and now that he does he doesn’t want to stop. And Link doesn’t want him to. 

Link doesn’t overthink this, he just moves, acts, reacts. He does what he feels, moves with the beat of whatever rhythm’s there to guide him. Something between his heartbeat and the pulse of Rhett’s need on his tongue like music. He gets lost in the ebb and flow of it, the feel of Rhett’s big hands in his hair, barely a weight on the back of his head like he’s afraid to push. Even though Link might not mind it if he did, a little bit. Maybe more than a little bit. 

And Link is _good_ at this. Rhett’s finding he’s having a hard time keeping quiet, remembering to breathe, and he doesn’t know if anyone’s in the living room outside his bedroom door but he doesn’t really care either, if he’s honest. At the very least, he cares less and less the more time goes by. The longer Link works him over with his unbelievably skilled mouth and his hands, staring up at him the way he does, the more the world beyond the two of them falls away. 

Rhett’s hands rest heavier on the back of Link’s head though he doesn’t mean for them to, it just happens the more Link leans in close, closer, head moving back and forth slowly like he’s willing himself to take every last fucking inch. 

“Oh… oh, Link,” Rhett stammers, remembers himself, lets up with his heavy hand and instead pets it through the long mess of his hair like an apology but it’s not long before he’s lost again and tugging. 

Link is just basking in the attention, the hands in his hair, the way Rhett’s reacting. It’s hot to hear him, to know he’s the reason that Rhett’s struggling to keep control of himself, the cause of the tremor in his limbs. He can feel Rhett writhe beneath him, his long legs wanting to move but unable to because Link’s there, on them, holding him down. He’s got a fair idea how close Rhett is to coming, even though the taller boy hasn’t announced it, just judging by the way he’s starting to tremble. 

Link steals Rhett’s hand from his hair and links their fingers together with a squeeze, thumb rubbing along Rhett’s, and there's an answering squeeze from the taller boy. It's white knuckle desperate like he needs this point of contact to hold on, to keep from completely falling apart. He feels Rhett’s body twist like he’s trying to do something, trying to move. He's gotta stop squirming like that or he's gonna choke, but with how close they are to the edge it's not so easy to hold him pinned down, so instead he pulls off because he has to. Rhett whines soft at the loss, and Link catches his breath, slick lips parted as he picks up the slack with his free hand. He's jerking Rhett off, fingers tight around him and taking note of what makes him shake, what steals those fucking perfect sounds from him. 

It doesn't last long because it can’t, not with how desperately close Rhett had been in the seconds before he’d had to pull away. It’s just seconds, less than a half-dozen strokes of his fist and Rhett comes in messy spurts over his belly and chest, groaning loud and shameless as he does. Link doesn’t escape the mess, himself, catching some across the chin and wincing automatically, like he thinks he’s going to get it in his eyes. 

He’s still touching Rhett, his hand curled loosely around him and stroking slow, carrying him through when Rhett makes a soft sound that makes it clear that this has tipped over the edge to _too much_ , and so he lets go and moves to slide up the bed to settle down alongside Rhett in the bed again. 

“Holy shit…” Rhett rumbles, his voice a little gravelly from how hard he’s fought to keep it down, even if it had been a losing battle. 

Link just grinned this slow grin, obviously pleased with himself. “You made a mess.”

“Yeah,” Rhett nods, shifts enough to glance down at himself. There’s nothing nearby to clean up with, unfortunately. He looks back at Link, glances down at his chin and comments, “You’ve got some…” gesturing to his own chin to illustrate what he means. 

Link’s quite aware of the mess, as it happens. He likes it, feeling dirty during and after, needing to go shower and wash himself off, get clean again. Right now, though, he acts like he’s just catching on that he’s got anything on him, and swipes at it with a finger and licks it slowly clean, tasting Rhett and letting it linger over his tongue with a soft, appreciative hum. 

Rhett’s eyes go wider as he watches. If he hadn’t just come, he’d be pinning Link to the bed for that little move. Actually, now that he thinks about it, Link hasn’t come yet and that’s not something he can let stand. Is Link hard? It feels impossible that he wouldn’t still be, but he doesn’t _know_ and not-so-subtly brushes the back of his hand against Link’s groin, an easy stretch from how they’re laying, knuckles dragging against the obvious bulge at the front of his pajamas. 

“Link…”

Rhett’s trying to turn his hand around to palm him, twisting at the wrist, but he’s got the wrong angle for that and it’s useless. Instead, he’s just uselessly nudging him with the backs of his fingers like anything it preferable to nothing at all, even this. 

It’s all too easy to get lost in this, and Link leans in just enough closer that he can press himself up against the flat of the back of Rhett’s hand. Link doesn’t want to stop, and if it were all up to him, they wouldn’t. Except, Rhett happens to catch sight of the time and groans. 

“ _Shit,_ Link. We’re late for class.”

“Fuck…” Link breathes against Rhett’s shoulder, tearing his eyes away from the other boy to catch sight of the clock. There’s nothing they can do, even if they got dressed and left right this minute, they’d be walking into their first class at least five or ten minutes late. 

“We need to shower.” Rhett’s trying to sound like the voice of reason, but he’s also not stopping the way he’s slowly dragging his knuckles against Link’s cock straining the front of his pajama pants. He’s torn about this because it’s tempting to just say _fuck it_ since they’re already late and carry on messing around in bed and then go shower, but the reality is if they do that they’re just going to end up missing their next class too. 

“We could shower together… save time…” Link wants to stay here, too, wants to move so he can get that big hand at a good angle, or better, arrange their bodies so Rhett can use his mouth, but the prospect of messing around in the shower is enticing. 

Rhett glances at the clock again. That’s actually not a bad idea, would get them out the door faster, maybe. He feels this little thrill of nerves at the prospect of that, at how impossibly hard it’ll be to keep his hands off Link in the shower. At the fact that’ll mean he’ll need to wait the whole damn day of classes to get his hands on him again, unless they find a way to steal time between classes, slip away into an empty room when they can spare a few minutes. 

“...alright, yeah,” he agrees a little belatedly. 

Well, it certainly won’t be the first day he’ll have gone to class completely distracted by Link.


End file.
